


Burned Out

by Wrabbit7



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Slice of Life, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrabbit7/pseuds/Wrabbit7
Summary: What if Daria never sat next to Jane in the fateful self esteem class? What if she had befriended another person? Say, a certain quiet, blonde girl? Please note that this story starts out heavily reliant on the script from the original show, but as time goes on, certain divergences will make themselves known, until a totally different work is presented. There will be certain things that I cannot put in the description or tags for spoiler reasons, but those familiar with my other works will see right away where I'm going with this.





	1. Chapter 1: Re-Esteemers

_**BURNED OUT** _

 

**Chapter 1:Re-esteemers**

 

 _A/N: Well, I thought I'd try my hand at this Daria story that's been niggling at the back of my brain for some time now. You've read the description, so you know the premise, but let me spell out some things for you. First of all, this is essentially going to be a retelling of the series, episode-for-episode, more or less. Some episodes will be skipped (I can tell you right now that the musical episode is one such), and entirely new “episodes” may appear now and then. Secondly, since we've all seen the show (I hope, or you wouldn't be here), you've essentially seen it from Daria's point of view. This one is more or less going to be from Jennifer's (Burnout Girl's) perspective. It won't be first person, and it won't just be her PoV, but she will be the main focus. Thirdly, since BG has what boils down to no character in canon, I get to make up whatever I want for it._ Caveat lector.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(")(")

 

Heaving a world-weary sigh, Jennifer closed her locker and looked up at the clock hanging in the hall. _Well, let's get this over with._ She shuffled into the classroom, happy to note that her favorite seat near the back was empty, and slumped into it, dropping her backpack on the floor next to her. The other usual students slowly trickled in, garnering no more interest from her than if a fly had wandered in. She took out a sheet of paper and started doodling on it, trying but failing to get the image of a harpy in her head down on paper.

 

The familiar sound of a pair of “Doc Martins” tromping into the room finally drew Jennifer's attention from her work, and she saw a new face in her class of a half dozen or so. The new girl did indeed wear boots, but incongruously, she had paired them with a black, pleated skirt and a green jacket over a tan t-shirt. Jennifer could see her eyes scanning the room from behind a pair of round glasses, and gave her a surreptitious nod towards the desk next to her, when the eyes finally passed over her.

 

The girl stood there a moment longer, before shrugging as if in resignation, and took the offered seat. Neither of them spoke, and Jennifer returned to her attempt at art, while this new girl took out a notepad and mechanical pencil from her bag. Mr. O'Neil chose that moment to walk in and begin the self-esteem class, which almost no one in the room actually needed. He was well into his lecture, when the new girl raised her hand and said, “Excuse me. I have a question.”

 

Mr. O'Neil was clearly taken aback at the disruption to his finely tuned lecture, and blinked at her for a second. “Sorry, question and answer time is later,” he replied.

 

Undeterred, the new girl asked in her monotone voice, “I want to know what 'realizing your actuality' means.”

 

Jennifer smirked a little at this, but Mr. O'Neil was not about to let his speech be derailed. “It means... look, just let me get through this part, okay? Then there'll be a video!” He even gave a thumbs-up and a smile, as if this made up for his complete lack of an answer. Without letting her reply, he returned to his lecture.

 

The new girl frowned a little, and Jennifer felt a little sorry for her. Leaning over, she whispered, “I don't think he actually knows what it means. You know how some people like to throw around buzz words to sound intelligent without bothering to learning what they mean?”

 

“But how am I supposed to follow him if I don't know what he's saying?” she persisted.

 

Jennifer gave a small smile and patted her backpack. “Don't worry. I have the notes my older sister took when they forced _her_ through this class. We can go over them later together if you like.”

 

The other girl looked a little abashed at the offer, but nodded. “Thanks.” She held out her hand, and said, “Name's Daria, by the way.”

 

Jennifer took it and smiled a little more. “Jennifer, but everyone calls me Burnout Girl.”

 

Daria looked a little confused and quirked an eyebrow up in a move reminiscent of Spock. “Burnout Girl?”

 

“You peel out once in Driver's Ed, and you're labeled for life,” she replied with a roll of her eyes.

 

This seemed to ease Daria's discomfort, and even made the corners of her mouth twitch in an almost-smile.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Walking down the road, Jennifer pointed to the next item on the list of topics covered by the class on the paper in her hand. “So, then there's the roleplaying, though Sam said that there's no dice involved, more's the pity. And then they separate us by gender, and a female councilor talks to us about body image.”

 

“What do they talk to the boys about?” Daria asked.

 

They stopped and both smirked. In unison, they said, “Public erections.”

 

They resumed walking and Daria asked, “So, if you've got the whole course laid out for you by your big sister, why don't you just take the test so you can get out early?”

 

“And give Mr. O'Neil the mistaken impression that he's actually a competent teacher?”

 

Daria hit her head with the heel of her hand. “Of course. What _was_ I thinking?”

 

Jennifer stopped as they came to a corner and started to turn down another street. “Listen, this has been fun and all, but I've got to get home and start on dinner. Can we pick this up again tomorrow?”

 

Without an ounce of emotion betraying her feelings, Daria replied, “Oh, sure. Leave me in my hour of need.” She smiled a little to lessen the sting of her words and nodded. “I'll see you in class tomorrow, then.”

 

Jennifer watched her walk away and turn to enter a red brick home, before resuming her own trek home. She didn't even notice the car in the driveway, nor her uncharacteristic whistling as she walked into what she thought would be her empty home. She was startled to see her sister, Samantha reclining on the couch and flipping through the TV channels. “Sam? I thought you were working today.”

 

The woman looked up, but had to brush a stray lock of snow-white hair out of the way to see. “I was, but they let me go early. The strip mall was dead today.” As Jennifer started into the kitchen, she added, “I brought home dinner from work; it's in the oven.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Jennifer opened the oven to find what Samantha always brought home, pizza. _This wouldn't be so bad if Pizza King weren't so terrible. I think the box has more nutritional value than the pizza itself. Tastes better, too._

 

Still, beggars can't be choosers, so she plopped a couple of slices onto a paper plate and walked into the living room to watch TV with her sister. “What's on?” she asked between mouthfuls.

 

Samantha sat up and leaned against her little sister, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Blegh. Nothing good. You coming to practice, tonight?”

 

Swallowing her mouthful, Jennifer replied, “That depends. Is Monique going to raise a fuss about me leaving before two a.m.? It is a school night, you know. I can't keep skipping classes like I did today.”

 

The older woman stole a pepperoni off her pizza and said, “Don't worry, little sis. I'll talk to her. She knows The Harpies wouldn't be the same without you behind the microphone.”

 

Jennifer grunted noncommittally as she took a last bite off the slice and dropped the pizza bone on the plate.

 

“So, how was self-esteem class today? Totally acing it with my notes, huh?” Samantha asked as she turned the channel to MTV, where for once, they were actually playing music videos in the middle of the day.

 

“Meh. They let me just coast, so I can do actual important things like finish my homework, which in turn, means I can make it to practice,” Jennifer replied, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Oh. But I did make a friend in that class.”

 

Samantha perked up at this news. “Oh, ho! Do tell! Who is it? What's her name? Or is it a _he_?” she asked, with an evil grin as she nudged her with an elbow.

 

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Ugh! I literally _just_ met her today! Gimme a break!” Seeing that she wasn't going to get any peace until some details were divulged, she sighed. “Her name's Daria. She's a brain, but got a wit sharper than a razor, and isn't afraid to use it. We're going to meet up tomorrow to go over your notes some more.”

 

“Sounds like a real firecracker,” Samantha noted. “Why don't you invite her to see us perform at the Zon, Friday? I'll drive you two to get a burger at Angel's afterwards; my treat.”

 

“Weeelll...” Jennifer hemmed and hawed for a bit, but they both knew it was a forgone conclusion. Angel's made the best burgers the two had ever eaten, and they came with a basket of fries bigger than your head. “I suppose it can't hurt to ask her.” She idly picked at the pizza bones on the plate, then said, “I think we should play _Deadly is the Night_. It's our strongest song.”

 

“And you don't want her to think we're just a lame band like the Spiral?” Samantha asked.

 

Unable to meet her eyes, Jennifer stared at the TV where AC/DC was jamming out _Who made Who?_ “I just... I want to make a good impression, you know? She seems to have her head on straight, and isn't a total bore in a conversation. Andrea and Shaggy are cool and all, but they just don't get me. They have their own crowds they hang out with, and I'm just kinda... on the fringe, you know?”

 

Samantha tousled her sister's hair and pulled her into a hug. “Yeah, I get you. I'll talk to the girls. If we all gang up on her, Monique will cave and play it. She may not like it, but you're right; it _is_ our best song. It doesn't hurt that it really lets you cut loose on the vocals, neither.”

 

Jennifer blushed lightly. “Shouldn't we be getting to practice?”

 

Glancing at the clock, Samantha jumped up. “Oh, damn! We gotta motor! I'll meet you in the car, I need to grab some money for gas.”

 

With a smile at the retreating back of her sister, Jennifer made her way to the garage. _Yeah. Maybe this friendship will last longer than a few weeks._

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

The next day saw Jennifer and Daria walking the halls, on their way to history class. As they walked, they passed Quinn talking- well, flirting, really- with a boy. While he was above average in looks, it was readily apparent that Quinn was only testing the waters, seeing how far he was willing to go for her, and like a fish that doesn't even know it's been hooked, he just kept swimming ahead, heedless of the financial dangers ahead. “So... like, what do you like to do after school?” he asked.

 

Smelling blood in the water, Quinn prodded the still flailing body to see what fell out. “Oh, nothing special. Go to the movies... or, like, a theme park... or out for a really fancy meal now and then... or maybe go to a concert, if, like, I know somebody's got good seats and is renting a limo and stuff.”

 

The boy finally saw the danger, and nervously looked for an escape route, but it was already too late. Jennifer smirked and shook her head. She wasn't really one to engage in idle gossip, but she couldn't help herself this time. “Poor dope. He hasn't got a chance,” she said with a snort.

 

Daria rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. That's my sister.”

 

“My condolences,” Jennifer replied.

 

The boy obviously didn't know when to cut his losses, and tried to change the subject to something potentially less expensive. “So, you got any brothers or sisters?”

 

Much to Jennifer's shock Quinn replied, “I'm an only child.”

 

Jennifer could see how much this bothered Daria, and decided to use this as an opening. “You know, that concert idea she suggested is not a bad one. I'm... sorta in a band with my sister and we play at this local club sometimes. We're no Pink Floyd or nothing, but we do pretty all right. We're gonna perform Friday night, so why don't you come with? My sister said she'll spring for burgers if I manage to increase our audience size by one.”

 

“I don't know...” Daria replied.

 

Resting a hand on her friend's shoulder, Jennifer said, “Aw, come on. It'll help you get over suddenly finding yourself an only child.”

 

Daria glanced at her and smiled a little at the distinct lack of malice in Jennifer's face. “All right, you twisted my arm. But these burgers better be magnificent. I'm not exactly big on crowds; I barely manage to get through school without running and screaming into the night.”

 

Jennifer smiled back at her success. “I think we're safe on that count. It won't be dark for hours, yet.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Samantha pulled her beat up old Dodge Charger into the Morgendorffer driveway and threw it into park, letting it idle throatily. “All right, now hurry up. We got ten minutes to get there early so we can set up my drums,” she said to Jennifer, who was already sprinting to the door before the car even came to a complete stop.

 

Nervously ringing the doorbell, Jennifer hopped slightly from foot to foot and straightened the black leather jacket she wore on stage for the band's image instead of her usual army surplus jacket. It took almost a minute before the door was opened and she came face-to-face with a tall, middle-aged, and worn-out looking man, who asked, “Can I... _help_ you?”

 

Jennifer suddenly felt very self-conscious under his scrutiny and squirmed a little. “Um, i- is D- Daria-”

 

She never got any further as Daria herself appeared and squeezed past her father. “Thanks, Dad. I got it from here.” She turned Jennifer around and began pushing her towards their ride.

 

Still suspicious, Jake called out, “Be careful, Kiddo! And don't stay out too late!”

 

Rather than reply, Daria simply gave a wave to him as they piled into the car, with her pushing a snare drum across the bench seat in the back. She was still buckling her seatbelt as Samantha pulled away, eager to get to the club in time.

 

Once the house was out of sight, Jennifer said, “Daria, this is my sister, Sam. She plays drums in the band. Sam, Daria Morgendorffer.”

 

Samantha looked back over her shoulder, accidentally turning the wheel with her, but Jennifer was prepared for this, and automatically reached over to correct the drift. “Hey, Daria, Samantha Peterson, but you can just call me Sam.” She reached over a hand to shake, which Daria did quickly so she could return her attention to the road.

 

“Um, pleased to meet you,” she said.

 

“Hey, don't worry about getting stuck in that self esteem class. That's where they put anyone who displays the tiniest bit of independent thought. I was forced to take it all four years of high school. Never did pass it, though I _did_ get to run Mr. O'Neil spare with questions about his speech,” The snow-haired woman said with a chuckle.

 

Jennifer rolled her eyes as she returned control of the steering wheel to the driver. “Unlike you, me and Daria have better ways to spend our afternoons than listening to someone tell us why we have low self esteem and how to fix it.”

 

“Like watching paint dry,” Daria said quietly.

 

Jennifer nodded and shot her a smile. “Yeah, like that.”

 

The club was fairly empty for a Friday night, but the sun had yet to go down, so everyone was still holding out hope. Daria got in on a comp ticket courtesy of Jennifer, and got a soda from the bar while the band was setting up on the stage. She noted the name of the band on the giant banner hanging behind them. _The Harpies? Makes sense, I guess, since they're all female. I just hope they're better singers than the mythological creatures._

 

It didn't take long for her to find out, as the band made a final sound check just ten minutes after starting their set up. The crowd had filled out considerably in that time, most of them looking pretty excited about something. She did manage to catch some skinny guy with a shaved head and a safety pin in his ear talking to a muscly guy with long hair about some girl saying that they were playing their best song, which is why some guy named Trent wasn't showing up.

 

The lights went low, and the crowd went almost silent until the first notes of a guitar riff went out, sending the audience wild with a cheer that made Daria's teeth rattle. And then, the spotlight opened up on Jennifer, who seemed to have undergone a transformation since Daria had last seen her. Gone was the quiet, mousey girl with half her face hidden by a curtain of hair. Standing behind the microphone now, was nothing less than a deathmetal punk valkyrie in black leather and lace belting out her war song.

 

_You think you're ready_

_(you're not, you're not)_

_You want to fight_

_(too weak, too weak)_

_You stand your ground_

_(you're lost, you're lost)_

_You turn to run_

_(too late, too late)_

_You thought to conquer us,_

_but lack the will._

_As your strength turns to dust,_

_we move in for the kill._

_You do what you must,_

_but **we** have the skill._

_So lay down to die_

_as we take your hill._

 

_Deadly! Deadly!_

_Deadly is the niiight!_

_Deadly! Deadly!_

_Deadly is our miiight!_

_You don't stand a chance,_

_so surrender now, 'cause_

_Deadly is the niiight!_

 

_Your numbers mean nothing_

_against our might._

_Your skills are disgusting_

_beneath our sight._

_You can't stop sucking;_

_it is your plight._

_So stop all your running_

_away from our light._

 

_Deadly! Deadly!_

_Deadly is the niiight!_

_Deadly! Deadly!_

_Deadly is our miiight!_

_You don't stand a chance,_

_so surrender now, 'cause_

_Deadly is the niiight!_

 

After the second chorus, the lead guitarist, a rail-thin woman with more piercings than a head shop jammed out on her instrument in a solo that went on for far too long in Daria's opinion, but really, she didn't pay it any mind, as her eyes were glued to Jennifer. The girl was headbanging in time with the solo, sending her blonde hair whipping around that Daria was sure would give her whiplash, but the crowd was lapping it up like a kitten at a puddle of spilled milk. Several times, it looked like Jennifer was about to start singing, but the solo played on. After almost five minutes of this, Sam missed a beat, causing the guitarist to break out of her groove, and giving her sister a chance to wrap up the song.

 

_You see you don't stand a chance;_

_your armor is broken._

_You're standing in a trance;_

_your words, all spoken._

_You raise a broken lance;_

_a useless token._

_You look up in askance;_

_your question unspoken._

_It's the same song and dance;_

_Every one heartbroken._

 

_Deadly! Deadly!_

_Deadly is the niiight!_

_Deadly! Deadly!_

_Deadly is our miiight!_

_You don't stand a chance,_

_so surrender now, 'cause_

_Deadly is the niiight!_

 

As soon as the last note was played, the audience went wild, nearly rushing the stage. It took the lights coming back on before the crowd would settle down enough for the band to play their next song, which wasn't as strong as their first. They played three more before taking a break, but by that time, the audience had settled down from the high of that first song, and were mostly just milling about, talking over the music. They still applauded when the Harpies took five, most of them seemed to be aiming the praise at Jennifer as she made her way toward the bar where Daria was seated.

 

The blonde plopped down on the stool and took a napkin from the dispenser to wipe the sweat off of her face. “Whew! So what did you think?”

 

Daria took a sip from her soda and nodded. “You're like a totally different person up there. I was really impressed by that first song, though. It must have been about something really emotional for you.”

 

Jennifer grinned, and accepted a glass of ice water from the bartender, downing it all in one go. “Well, I didn't write it, I just sing it. Though, it _does_ give me a reason to scream my head off, so there's that.”

 

“Truly, a glass half full point of view,” Daria replied. After a moment, she said, “I've been giving this self esteem class thing some more thought.”

 

“That's already more thought than I give it, but what about it?” Jennifer asked.

 

Staring into her drink, Daria said, “I may not have anything special going on after school, but I know _you_ do, so why _not_ try to get out of it earlier? We got everything we need to pass it, and freeing up our afternoons would mean more time to hang out, and we don't have to listen to Mr. O'Neil drone on about our alleged low self esteem.”

 

Jennifer rested her chin on her hand as she considered her friend's words. “Hmm... You do bring up some good points, and the girls _were_ pretty ticked about me having to miss so much practice time.” She sat in silent contemplation a minute more before saying, “Alright. I guess it can't do any harm to try.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer glared over at Daria as they sat on the stage waiting for their turn at the microphone. “I was wrong. It can and _is_ doing harm- _lots_ of harm.”

 

Daria for her part, had the grace to give her a hangdog expression before looking down at the ground again. “Sorry,” was all the she could manage.

 

The blonde laid a hand on her arm and patted her reassuringly. “It's fine. Mr. O'Neil always tends to go overboard in one direction or the other, with little regard for others' actual feelings. Just stick to your script, and we'll get _some_ measure of satisfaction out of this.”

 

They listened as Ms. Li nattered on about bake sales and collecting DNA samples until she gave the floor over to O'Neil. “Thank you. You know, self-esteem is a little like your car's brake fluid. You may not even know you're low on it until, one day, you go to shift gears and nothing happens.”

 

From out of the darkened auditorium, a lone voice called out, “That's transmission fluid!” eliciting a susurration of titters and chuckles.

 

Pink staining his cheeks, O'Neil cleared his throat. “That's... what I said. Anyway, I'd like you to meet two students who have completed our self-esteem course faster than anyone ever before! Please join me in congratulations as I present these certificates of self-esteem to... Daria Morgendorffer and Jennifer Peterson.”

 

Heaving a sigh, Jennifer rose from her chair. “Here goes nothin'.” Mounting the podium, she cleared her throat, and nervously looked out over the auditorium. “You know, it's good to have self esteem. And having this certificate proves that I have it, and no one can take that away from me. Unless someone were to take the certificate, I suppose... and my self esteem with it. But who would even know I had low self esteem? Wait...” A look of dawning horror swept across her face, and she ran from the stage, certificate clutched tightly to her chest, and audience laughing loudly.

 

O'Neil took off after her, shouting, “Daria, wait!”

 

Seeing that her turn was up, Daria went to the podium and began reciting the speech that she had memorized, not bothering with the note cards in her pocket. She already knew exactly how to rip into her chosen target. “No one can battle a terrible problem like low self-esteem on their own. It takes good coaching...”

 

Out in the audience, Quinn nervously watched the stage, hoping against hope that nothing that would damage her toehold on the social scene that she had carefully crafted for the past week. She barely even acknowledged the boys' insults directed at the people onstage.

 

“...realize my actuality. Winning the fight against low self-esteem takes support... from teachers, from friends, and most of all, from family.”

 

Quinn froze, an icy hand crushing her heart in its grip. _No, please, God, no!_

 

“And so, the one person I'd like to thank more than any other is my very own sister, Quinn Morgendorffer.” Daria paused long enough to enjoy the shocked gasps from the assembled students, staring directly at the shock of red hair that she knew could only be Quinn. “My _sister_ Quinn has forgotten more about self-esteem than I'll ever know. Are you out there, _S_ _is_? Stand up and let me thank you.”

 

More shocked gasps and fevered whispering filled the room as Daria gave the first full smile she'd had since moving to Lawndale.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Samantha stopped her drumming on the living room coffee table as Jennifer walked in and dropped her backpack next to the door heaving a big sigh of relief. “Rough day?”

 

Jennifer looked over to her elder sibling and asked, “How are you even still employed? Doesn't Pizza King still serve customers?” She rolled her eyes at Samantha's silent grin. “To answer your question, yeah, it was a little rough. Standing in front of an audience is pretty intimidating.”

 

Quirking an eyebrow at her, Samantha said, “This, from a girl who routinely goes up on a stage and sings until her throat is raw and sore?”

 

“That's different. I'm in costume, then, and singing takes up too much attention to let me worry about the staring.” She walked over and plopped down on the couch, trying to let all her stress drip away. “Besides, we've never had an audience larger than a few dozen. Lawndale High has several hundred students.” Turning her head, she saw Samantha's worried expression, and lightly punched her in the arm. “Oh, knock it off. I'll be fine. It's not like standing up in front of the whole school endangered any friendships I may have had; I only had the one to begin with.”

 

With a grunt, she leaned forward and stood, all in one motion. “Speaking of which, I need to dip into the emergency funds; I'll pay it back when Mom gives me my allowance. Me and Daria are going to the UFO convention this Saturday. A treat to ourselves for passing the class early.”

 

Samantha wiped away an imaginary tear and sniffed. “They grow up so fast.”

 

_Na, na, naaa, na, na..._

 


	2. The Dis-Invitation

_**Burned Out** _

 

**Chapter 2: The Dis-Invitation**

 

With a smile, Jennifer pulled the headphones off, and looked over the sheet music she had just finished writing, with a nod of satisfaction. The hasty shorthand under the notes indicating the lyrics were a bit stale and trite in her opinion, but then, she wasn't the lyricist of the group.

 

The music teacher, Ms. Breger sauntered over and looked over the electric keyboard at the music. “Very nice, Jenn. Another one for your band?”

 

Jennifer blushed a little at the attention. Ms. Breger was one of the few teachers she actually respected, and she found it embarrassing whenever the woman looked at her private work. It didn't help any that she always gave the air of a classical aficionado, but kept telling her that she respected all forms of “legitimate” music, spoken word being one of the few notable exceptions. “Um. Thanks. Monique just gave me the lyrics yesterday and asked me to work on the arrangement for her.”

 

Ms. Breger rolled her eyes. “Still pawning off the scut work on others, is she?”

 

“It's okay, really,” Jennifer said. “I need the practice.” She looked down at the sheet and sighed. “I just wish I could do lyrics myself. Everything _I_ write comes off sounding so... bleagh. But, to be honest, everything she writes just sounds kinda... the same. I hate to say it, but our one hit seemed to be a fluke, and we can't live off of that one song. Anger over a breakup will only take you so far, no matter how many times you keep repeating that break up over and over again. We're better than that.”

 

Patting her shoulder, Ms. Breger said, “Then maybe you just need a fresher perspective. Try looking to your favorite things for inspiration. TV, movies, books, comics, nature, even friends and family can be an invaluable source of inspiration.”

 

Jennifer stared at the music for a moment. “Maybe I'll ask Sam. She might be able to think of something to inspire me... or her. Or even Monique. Whatever it is, we really need to get out of this rut.”

 

The teacher shook her head in exasperation as her advice once more went over her student's head.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Walking into her house, Jennifer led Daria through the living room and up to her room. “Thanks for helping me with my English homework. I swear, Mr. O'Neil gets more and more obnoxious with these reports he hands out like candy on Halloween.”

 

Daria nodded. “No problem. Kant is interesting, but a bit advanced to make the subject of a sophomore report; especially given the average intelligence of our classmates.” She suddenly realized how her comment could be misconstrued, and hastily added, “Not that you're stupid, but I just mean if you aren't ready to absorb some of his ideas, they can be a mouthful. So to speak.”

 

Waving her off, Jennifer replied, “Don't worry, I know what you meant. And I also know my own limitations. Descartes, I'm not.” She walked back to the door and asked, “I was going to get something to drink. Want a soda, water, juice, milk, purple stuff?”

 

Daria shrugged off her backpack and sat at the computer desk. “Considering how much Brittany Taylor I had to deal with today, I need a sugar boost. I'll take that soda, please.”

 

Jennifer nodded and was gone only a couple of minutes. When she returned she gave her a ice cold can of Ultra Cola while she took another swallow from her own. “So, what did the Princess of Pom-poms want?”

 

The question caught Daria off guard, and she almost snorted cola up her nose. Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she replied, “Believe it or not, she invited me to a party she's having this weekend, for helping her in art class.”

 

“I didn't think she even knew how to apply paint to canvas with a brush,” Jennifer said as she took a seat on the edge of her bed.

 

Daria took a proper sip before replying. “She doesn't. Ms. Defoe still hasn't let her hold anything more dangerous than a jar of fingerpaint... the plastic kind. Today, she needed help with learning perspective.”

 

Leaning back on her propped up arms, Jennifer grinned and said, “Brittany needing to learn perspective? Whod'a thunk it?”

 

“Funny,” Daria rejoined. “So as a 'thank you', she invited me to a party she's holding Saturday.”

 

“I take it from your tone that you're thinking of blowing it off,” Jennifer asked.

 

Daria shrugged. “Oh, sure. I'll even perform my glass-swallowing trick while I'm there. Could you imagine _me_ in a room full of the school's so-called 'social elite'? I'd give it ten minutes- fifteen tops before justifiable homicide was committed.”

 

Jennifer smirked back. “Honest, Your Honor! They were threatening me with a Hanson CD! It was me or them!” The corner of Daria's mouth ticked up as she imagined the scene in her head. After a moment, Jennifer's eyebrow went up thoughtfully. “You know, being that it's Brittany's party, it's pretty much a given that the football team will be there.”

 

“Your point?” Daria asked.

 

Sitting up, Jennifer gripped the edge of the bed and leaned forward. “Those three boys your sister is stringing along are on the football team. They're sure to invite her.”

 

“I'm forced to spend all my time at home sharing a house and bathroom with my sister-”

 

Jennifer was quick to reply with, “Not at the same time, I hope.” but was ignored.

 

“-Not to mention the time between classes at school where we might run into each other. Why on Earth would I want to voluntarily spend even _more_ time with her?”

 

Jennifer stood up and walked over to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You're looking at this all wrong. You're not being forced to spend time with her, you're forcing her to spend time with you, while looking for an opportunity to embarrass her in front of her friends.” Daria's eyebrows raised as she considered this point, while Jennifer moved in for the kill. “If nothing else, then think of it as payback for publicly disavowing having a sister.”

 

Daria's grin was almost shark-like in its intensity. “You know, I think it's time I expanded my social horizons.”

 

“Just promise me you won't forget the little people who got you where you are,” the blonde replied.

 

Rising to her feet, Daria rested a hand on her shoulder in imitation of Jennifer's earlier action. “Oh, you don't think I'd go into that nest of vipers alone, do you?” She was quite pleased with the squeak of surprise she got from her friend.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

“Thanks again for driving us, Sam,” Daria said from the backseat of the Charger.

 

Samantha turned around to face her, forcing Jennifer to correct her steering, and said, “No problem, Daria. Anything for my favorite little sister and her friend.”

 

“I still can't believe you got Brittany to add me to the list at the last minute,” Jennifer said. “I didn't think she even knew I existed.”

 

With a shrug, Daria replied, “Honestly, I don't think she did. To be fair though, there's only so much room in that brain of hers, and so much of it is taken up by her cheer routines. I'm a little surprised she remembered she even invited me, let alone my name.”

 

Samantha gave a bark of laughter, but kept her eyes on the road this time. “She sounds like this girl I knew when _I_ went to school. She was a couple years ahead of me, so we didn't interact much anyways, but being a cheerleader too, I doubt we would have said 'Boo' to each other in the halls if we were in the same grade. Still, I wonder what happened to ol' Ashley-Amber. _That_ was trophy wife material if I ever saw it.”

 

The car pulled up to the entrance of the Crewe Neck gated community, and Samantha threw it into park. “Okay, this is where I leave you. I've been banned from Crewe Neck. Something about an amp, a balloon filled with paint, and a Mercedes; don't ask. Gimme a call at Monique's when you're ready to come home, and I'll come get you.”

 

“Thanks, sis,” Jennifer said and gave her a hug before getting out, while Daria just waved as she drove off.

 

Turning their attention to the gatehouse, they saw the guard watching them suspiciously. As they approached, he pulled out a clipboard and asked, “Names, please?”

 

Daria answered, “We're here for Brittany Taylor's party. Daria Morgendorffer.”

 

He nodded reluctantly, and looked to the other girl. “What about you? Name?”

 

“Jennifer Peterson.”

 

He flipped through several pages and shook his head. “Not seeing it. Sorry, kiddo.”

 

Jennifer sighed and her shoulders sagged. “Try looking under Burnout Girl,” she said with great reluctance.

 

The guard looked dubious, asking, “What kind of name is- oh. Here you are.” He scrutinized her for a moment before adding, “Well, I suppose no one would _willingly_ call themselves that just to sneak into a party. Okay, go on in.” He made a big deal of going into the guard house to lift the crossing arm in order to let them pass.

 

“Truly, you are a credit to your profession,” Daria said as the walked past.

 

As they walked up to Brittany's door, Daria asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

 

Jennifer looked at her like she had grown a second head. “You practically strong-arm me into coming to this party as your backup, and you're having second thoughts _now_?”

 

Daria chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “I feel guilty for abusing our friendship?”

 

Grabbing her elbow, Jennifer pulled her up the steps. “Come on. Just remember why we're here.

 

“To heap unending humiliation upon the most deserving shoulders I can think of?”

 

Jennifer smiled as they finally reached the front stoop. “Exactly! Now chin up, nose up, and act like you actually know a thing about boy bands.”

 

“You mean other than the fact that they all come from a special order factory in China?” Daria quipped as her friend pushed the doorbell.

 

Before either of them could say anything, the door opened, revealing Brittany, still in her cheerleader uniform. “Daria! You made it!” She surprised her guest by embracing her quickly and stepping back. “Oh, and you brought Burnout Girl, after all! Won't you two come in?”

 

Daria knew Jennifer was touchy about her nickname, so she raised her hand and said, “Um, actually, she-”

 

Jennifer gently pulled the hand down again and shook her head. “Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter. It's been going too long and has too much inertia.”

 

“Come in, come in!” Brittany said, pulling Daria in, and by extension, Jennifer, since she was still holding onto her arm in case she tried to bolt for it. The sound of something fragile breaking, followed by Kevin Thompson's muffled “Oops.” caught her attention and she added, “Excuse me. I think I hear my Kevvy getting into trouble.”

 

They watched her bounce off in the direction of the offending noises, and took a look at the display of peacockery going on. Naturally, the cliques had all gravitated to themselves and their allied groups. Daria's scan stopped suddenly when she noticed movement behind a large, rearing ceramic tiger. “Target sighted,” she mumbled just loud enough for Jennifer to hear her over the loud music.

 

Jennifer followed her gaze, spotting the shock of red hair poorly hidden behind the large expanse of porcelain cat. They were about to head in that direction when another redhead blocked their path. “Charles Ruttheimer III. And you are?”

 

Rolling her eyes, Jennifer replied, “Charles, you know who I am; we've been in the same classes since fourth grade.”

 

Daria decided on a different tack, and answered, “Esmerelda.”

 

Charles ignored Jennifer's comment, and gave a small bow. “I'll be your social director for the evening. Would you ladies like a tour of the house? It's free.”

 

“Do you accept tips?” Daria asked.

 

Sensing he might be getting somewhere with the new girl, he said, “But, of course.”

 

“Ditch the bangs.”

 

Taken off guard momentarily, he gave a low growl like an asthmatic cat purr. “Feisty...” Nevertheless, he put his arms over the girls' shoulders, and played it off when he was shrugged away. Seeing that he needed more time to work on them, he led them on the offered tour, despite not actually knowing anything about the house itself. “This five-bedroom house is designed in a combination of southern pseudo-plantation and late mock-Tudor styles. To your right, the quasi-Victorian breakfast nook. Straight ahead, the family den, which was inspired by the novels of Isak Dinesen.”

 

He led them to another door tucked away in a corner of the hallway and said, “And this... is the make-out room! Am I blushing? Confidentially, it's really the laundry room.” He held a hand up in a mock attempt to hide what he was saying to an unseen audience as he said this, then knocked on the door. “Hey? Don't lean on the buttons!”

 

A male voice called out from in the room, “Can it, Upchuck, or I'll break your face!” This was quickly followed by a distinctly female giggle.

 

Turning back to his captive audience, he added, “As we've reached the end of our tour, I'd like to thank you for your undivided attention. Any questions?”

 

“Yes. How did you get invited?” Daria asked.

 

Charles' expression immediately became crestfallen as he said, “I dissected her frog.” Finally sensing the direction of the wind, he wandered off sadly.

 

Jennifer felt a little bad about it, but pushed it to the side as she resumed search for their target. She noticed a couple of boys watching them pretty intensely, but also ignored them as unimportant. Eventually, her eyes came across that same tiger from before and was surprised to see Quinn still standing behind it. She was watching the two of them until Jennifer spotted her, and ducked back behind cover. Jennifer lightly elbowed Daria and muttered, “Heads up. Target reacquired, same location.”

 

Daria looked over and spotted her sister once more, and said in a normal volume, “I'm getting a bit thirsty. Want some punch?” She pointed a thumb over in the direction of the refreshments table, which was very close to the tiger.

 

Nodding, Jennifer mechanically replied, “Sure. That walk built up a mighty thirst.”

 

They walked over to the table, where several other kids were standing and socializing. After getting a cup each, Daria loudly asked, “I wonder where my _sister_ , Quinn Morgendorffer is? She said she would be here. How am I supposed to look out for my _little sister_ when I can't even find her?”

 

“I know,” Jennifer added just as loudly. “It's almost like she's trying to ditch the party.”

 

Several of the kids around them began whispering at this, and Daria could almost swear she heard her sister blush. It was then that Quinn's three “suitors” came straight up to the tiger, and began talking to her as if there was nothing unusual about the situation. “There you are! I'm glad we found you,” Joey said.

 

“Yeah, we were looking all over for you,” Jeffy added.

 

“I looked the hardest,” Jamie volunteered.

 

Mortified beyond reason, Quinn wordlessly ran out from behind the tiger and dashed for the bathroom, locking it behind her. Daria watched her go, then looked to the three boys next to her. “Hi. I'm Quinn's brainy sister. People say we look alike.”

 

Jennifer scrutinized her face, then shook her head. “I don't see it. Anyway, why don't you finish that story you were telling me about the family trip to the Grand Canyon? The one where your father didn't want to make any pit stops because he was making good time?”

 

Picking up on her cue, Daria grinned. “Oh, right. So, there we were, in the middle of the desert without a gas station within sixty miles, when Quinn started crossing her legs and squirming in the seat. She said, 'Da~aaad!'” Jennifer gave a little shudder at how well Daria imitated Quinn just then. “'You  _have_ to stop! If you don't, I'm gonna explode!' So my mom hands her an empty soda cup and says, 'Here, you gotta go? Then go.'” Just then, she noticed Quinn standing aghast behind the Three J's,frozen in shock and horror. Just to twist the knife a little more, she said, “I have this great picture at home of Quinn in her chubby stage.”

 

Quinn ran up and pulled her away roughly and brought her to the foyer, shoving some money in her hand. “Look, I'll pay you five dollars to just go away, all right?”

 

Daria took the money, but rolled her eyes. “Boy, you try to look out for your little sister...”

 

Quinn dug out more money and shoved it in her other hand. “Fine, here's ten. Now, go away!”

 

As she stomped off, Jennifer walked up. “Does this mean mission accomplished?”

 

Daria gave her one of the fives then turned for the door. “I'm happy with the damage caused tonight. When she breaks out the bribes, it usually means I've come to the wall that keeps her from telling our parents. Shall we go, then?”

 

Walking to the entrance of the gated community, Jennifer looked at her watch and said, “It's still pretty early. Want to go hang out at Monique's?”

 

“Well, my mom will ask too many questions if I come home this early, especially without Quinn, since I was supposed to be looking out for her, but do you think it'll be okay? I don't want to intrude on 'band business' or whatever,” Daria replied.

 

Jennifer shook her head, momentarily revealing both eyes. “Nah, it's cool.”

 

They reached the guard station where the guard was arguing with a bunch of kids in a car blaring loud music. “I don't care if you  _are_ a late addition. You're not on the list, you don't get in.”

 

Jennifer tapped him on the shoulder and asked, “Hey, can we use your phone? We need to call for our ride.”

 

The guard turned around to face them, replying, “Fine, just let me deal with these-” With his back turned, the kids took the opportunity to drive around the crossing arm with a squeal of tires on the pavement. “Hey! Get back here, you-” He chased after them on foot, leaving the station unguarded.

 

Picking up the phone, Jennifer made her call, then turned to Daria. “She'll be here in a few minutes. Sounds like they're actually inspired enough to practice the new song tonight.”

 

“Sure I'm not going to be in the way?”

 

Jennifer shook her head again. “Positive. Besides, the rest of the band wants to meet you. I never had many friends outside of them, so they're kinda psyched to see who I would make friends with all on my own.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

The meeting went a lot better than Daria had thought it might, though she still felt out of place in a room full of mature women. At least, _some_ of them acted mature. Samantha was probably the most mature there, but that's not really saying much.

 

As soon as she walked through the door behind Jennifer, she had the attention of the three other women. Jennifer pointed out each of them in turn as she introduced them. “Daria, that's Monique,” she pointed at the woman with too many piercings that had spent almost five minutes on a guitar solo that first night at the club, “Lisa,” she pointed at a redhead sitting on a couch, strumming away on a bass guitar, and looking like a refugee from a trailer park tornado, “and Sylvia, but everyone calls her Sylvie,” she indicated the last woman standing at the entrance to the kitchen, who had a body like a _Victoria Secret_ model, and a face to match.

 

The four women all added up to a rather attractive band, though Monique's allure was more of an, “I'm dangerous to know” kind of attractiveness, and Lisa had a sort of put upon look that hid what was likely a rather attractive woman. Still, Daria held her hand out for them when Jennifer gave her a little push forward into the room. “Um, pleased to meet you,” she mumbled.

 

Sylvie pushed her way through the other two and took the offered hand. “Aw, the poor thing's so shy.” She leaned forward, her face coming uncomfortably close and pushed Daria's hair on the side behind her ear, eliciting a deep blush from the girl. “You remind me of Sam when she was your age; so _cute_.”

 

“Sylvie!” a blushing Samantha shouted as she chased the laughing woman back into the kitchen.

 

Monique rolled her eyes and said, “So are we gonna practice now that we're all here or not? I heard that Trent's come up with a new song that's supposed to be killer.”

 

The redhead gave a sharp bark of laughter from her seat. “Ha! I'll bet it's 'killer'. Probably kill your brain cells from trying to interpret the lyrics.”

 

Monique took exception to this and glared at her. “I'll have you know that I read them, and they are fantastic! We're really going to have to buckle down if we want to keep up with The Spiral.”

 

“Oh, great. It sounds like she's back together with Trent again, or she wouldn't be defending his awful music, let alone calling his band, 'The Spiral'.” Jennifer sighed quietly.

 

Daria waited for the others to head through the kitchen and into the garage before she looked to her friend and asked, “I take it them being together is not a good thing?”

 

Jennifer smirked and shook her head. “Oh, no. It's a good thing; so long as you happen to like watching volatile chemical reactions up close... without safety gear.” She grabbed a chair from the kitchen table as they walked past, and set it up next to the door in the garage. “You can sit here while we practice, or if it gets to be too much, just head on in and watch TV. I think Sick, Sad World will be on in a half hour or so.”

 

She sat down and watched them get in their positions and shakily start practice. To say that Daria was less than impressed this time around would have been an understatement. She didn't know if it was because it was a new song, and therefore unpolished, the subject matter, a odd little number that almost sounded... happy, which was a huge departure from their usual fare, or some other factor, but the Harpies sounded just  _awful_ . 

 

After the fifth time through, the song just kinda petered out, until only Monique was left jamming away on her guitar. It took her a while to notice nobody else was playing or singing, and she stopped abruptly to glare at her band mates. “Okay, what's the problem  _this_ time?”

 

They sat there for a moment, staring at each other. Samantha was the first to break the silence and say, “Monique, we sounded like Spiral.”

 

Monique rolled her eyes and gave a snort of disgust. “I wish!”

 

“No, Monique; that's a _bad_ thing,” Sylvie clarified from behind her keyboard. “Remember Ice-”

 

“ _Don't_ you dare finish that sentence!” Monique shrieked.

 

Samantha stood from behind the drums and walked around them to stand next to her. “You're like this every time you and Trent get back together. Honestly, I'd say we need to take a break from being a band for a few days every time you two hook up again, if it weren't for the fact that you break up and get back together at least once a month.” Monique opened her mouth to say something back, but Samantha stopped her with a raised hand in a “halt” gesture. “Before you say something we'll all regret  _again_ , why don't we call it a night and cool off? Meet up again tomorrow after work, and discuss this again?”

 

Several emotions could be seen to crawl across Monique's face, most some variation of anger, until she looked over at Daria, who sat there with a slightly startled expression, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. She seemed to come to her senses and angrily unplugged her guitar and put it on the stand next to her before stomping off into the house, slamming the door behind her.

 

The rest of the band was stunned, and it was several moments before anyone spoke. “Well,  _that_ was the quietest I've ever seen her storm off before,” Lisa said.

 

“You can say that again. What just happened?” Sylvie added.

 

Samantha looked from the door to Daria and gave a sad little shake of her head. “I think she finally realized what she must look like to an outsider when she throws a hissy fit, and didn't like it.” She walked over and gave Daria a brief, one-sided hug. “Thanks, Daria. We've been trying to get her to do that for as long as we've known her.”

 

Daria looked over at Jennifer in confusion, only to receive an equally confused shrug in return.

 

Samantha wasn't quite done, however, and grabbed her sister's sleeve and pulled her towards the door back into the house. “Come on. Let's all go get some ice cream before I take you home.”

 

Still in a daze, Daria quietly followed after.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

_AN: Well, now. I hope that was enough of a departure from the episode to be fresh and new, while still resembling the source material. My plan in future is to do something like this; keep the original premise of the episode, but see where the new perspective and changes to cast take us. I think that eventually, all the changes will pile up so high, that they'll be almost entirely new episodes- er, chapters... whatever._

 

_Try not to think too badly of Monique (or at least, my interpretation of her here). She's not bad; she's just written that way. :P I needed new conflict to put in here, since I'm not going to bother with most of the Daria alone or Daria/family scenes, because most of those will remain largely the same (just replace names etc), and thus, would be retreading old ground that any fan of the show would already know. Rest assured, she won't always be such a bitch. I believe she's a good person at heart, she just needs to move away from toxic influences on her life (even if they're only incidentally toxic) to let that shine through._

 

_One thing to note: Ms. Breger is actually based on my middle school band teacher. Think of her appearance as a sort of tribute, and an apology for not keeping up with my music (I was a pretty good trumpet player, if I do say so myself; second chair is nothing to sneeze at)._

 


	3. Collage Board

_**Burned Out** _

 

**Chapter 3: Collage Board**

 

Jennifer dipped the steak fry in a pool of green ketchup before putting it in her mouth to chew thoughtfully. She looked over at her sister in the darkened booth of the Zomblebee's restaurant to gauge her reaction to all this, and was a bit relieved to see acceptance. Reluctant, and not without a fair bit of residual anger, but still acceptance. Looking over to Sylvie and Lisa, she found them in much the same state of mind, but then, they were the two easiest-gong members of the band. She listened to strains of Kurt Cobain singing about the joys of lithium over the restaurant's sound system for a moment, before the current source of friction in the group opened her mouth again.

 

“So, yeah. Sorry about blowing up on you guys the other night. I just... I know it's lame, but he really makes me feel special, you know? And the way you all talk about him and his band feels like an attack on me personally.” Monique had the decency to at least look contrite and hangdog. It didn't help matters much that her Zomblebee's waitress uniform made her already emaciated street punk look even more zombie-like. “I _want_ you guys to have more input in the band, so I made this.” She pulled a folded up piece of paper and laid it flat on the center of the table, pushing aside the fries she had bought for them as an appetizer to the true apology.

 

They looked down at the paper, and Jennifer's eyebrows went up in confusion. “A contract?”

 

Monique nodded and absently grabbed a fry to eat. “It gives all five of us equal say in what we play, and how it's made. Basically, all the important stuff we do onstage is up for debate, so long as we're not actually onstage, or an hour before. Beyond that, we all have equal input. No repercussions, except for insults, of course.”

 

Jennifer looked over the details, which itemized everything that would be considered a valid topic for debate in the band, which included lyrics, musical style, stage dress, makeup, as well as responsibilities for every member. There was even an amendment system which allowed for expansion of new topics, responsibilities, and even new members. All in all, it looked like a lot more thought went into this than Jennifer usually gave Monique credit for. Still unsure of how willing the older woman was to commit to the loss of this much autonomy, she asked, “So, if we don't like the lyrics of a song, or the arrangement you asked for, we can vote to change it?”

 

With a hesitant nod, Monique replied, “Yes, but a good reason has to be given, both for and against the changes, and a vote taken. With as few member as we have, that will mean that no one can just not vote.”

 

Sylvie leaned forward over the arm she rested on the table, her breasts spilling over them as she reached for another two fries. “Sounds fair. That way we all get to hear the pros and cons and make an informed decision, I guess.”

 

“What happens if one of us suddenly doesn't want to follow the rules, and decides to force the others to do what she wants?” Lisa asked.

 

Picking up the contract, Samantha read the final paragraph out loud. “If for any reason, one of The Harpies tries to force her views without the permission of the rest, she will be given three chances to recant and apologize, or be forced from the band forever.” She returned the paper and looked Monique in the eye. “Sounds pretty harsh. Are you sure about this?”

 

“I... I deserved that, I suppose,” Monique said, looking down in shame. She drew a deep breath and let it go in a sigh before looking up again. “I... I know that I've been the source of most of the friction in the band, and I'm sorry about that. You guys deserve better than that. You've been my friends since elementary school; even you, Jennifer. You're a lot more than Sam's little sister to me. I'd have never trusted you with all the arrangements if I did think you weren't be able to handle it.”

 

This took Jennifer completely by surprise, as she was sure that Monique saw her as a decent vocalist at best, and a potential rival for control of the band at worst. “I may not have been the best of friends lately to you all, but I promise you, that Trent and I are going to be taking it a lot slower this time. We... we also agreed to keep our private lives out of the bands. The guys in Spiral have been giving him some grief over us, too. I really want us to make it as a band, and I know that I have a lot of problems that stand in the way of that, so I wanted to give you all a way to rein it in a little, maybe smack me across the nose with a rolled up newspaper,” she added, getting a chuckle from the rest of them.

 

Sylvie was the first to grab a pen from Monique's waitress apron and sign at one of the dotted lines. “Well, you certainly sound like you know you did wrong, and you're willing to work with us, so that's good enough for me.”

 

Lisa took the pen from her and signed, adding, “I'm just glad we got here without any bloodshed.”

 

Samantha looked at the pen now resting on top of the contract, then to her sister, than back at the pen before picking it up. “All right. We'll give this a try. I've heard that some bands work better with the boundaries laid out in writing. Maybe we're one of those?” She held out the pen to Jennifer, expectantly.

 

Instead of taking the proffered instrument right away, she looked at Monique curiously. “So I really get a full vote? You're really willing to do that?”

 

“It would be pretty stupid of me to say no, not just because I consider you a friend, but also because you're the best singer among us, making you just as important as any of the rest of us,” Monique replied.

 

With a smile, Jennifer happily signed and pushed the contract over to her, the last person to actually sign it. As Monique put pen to paper, she was more than a little touched to find that they had left the first line open for her, their leader.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer looked at Daria as if she had just grown another head and placed a crown upon it at a jaunty angle. “Are you serious? They're making you take a college prep class? You're like, one of the two or three kids in school that I know of, who need a class like that the least.”

 

Daria shrugged and finished off her chocolate milk. “It would seem they disagree with you. I guess that visit to their friends spooked them into doing something 'for my own good', so to speak.” She thought for a moment before asking, “Wait, who are the other two?”

 

“Jody and Mack,” she answered.

 

Daria considered this for a moment, then said, “Okay, Jody I can see, but why Mack?”

 

“Football scholarship.”

 

“Of course,” Daria said with a roll of her eyes. “How could I forget the time honored academic tradition of accepting people into an institution of learning based on how well they handle their balls?” She shook her head and looked a little angry. “No, that's not really fair. Of all the guys on 'The Team', Mack is the most deserving of a spot in a good college. He at least, can diagram a sentence more complex than, 'See Jane run.'”

 

Jennifer tilted her head to the side. “All the emphasis on sports really bugs you, doesn't it?”

 

Daria sighed as she considered her now empty lunch tray. “What's not to like? Academics and money for the things that actually further society are underfunded and left to wither on the vine, while people cheer for their favorite tribal warriors like the Romans did for the gladiators, paying them exorbitant salaries for doing something that in the end, has as much impact on real life and society as collecting stamps. Great. Now I'm _really_ depressed.”

 

Feeling sorry for her, Jennifer said, “Cheer up. It can't be all that bad. I'll even take the class with you if you want.”

 

“No, it's okay,” Daria replied with a shake of her head. “No need for the _both_ of us to suffer. Besides, aren't you planning to go touring with the Harpies when you graduate?”

 

Jennifer smiled. “Yes, but this is held during school hours, and I'll take any excuse that I can to get out of math class.”

 

Daria shook her head, but Jennifer could tell her gloomy mood was dispelled. “One of these days, I'm going to have to disabuse you of this irrational hatred of numbers.”

 

With a fake snort of disgust, Jennifer replied, “Pffft, please. As long as I can tell the difference between three-four time and four-four time, I'll be fine.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Once actually sitting in the class, Jennifer was starting to have misgivings. Sure, her mom had fronted the fifty dollars for the class, but already, she was doubting that the return would be worth it. The guy teaching it didn't look much older than she did, and she had a strong suspicion that he was doing this for college credit. Still, she wasn't one to waste money when there was so little of it in the house, so she at least tried to pay attention.

 

As he stood in front of the class, leaning on the desk like one of those alleged “cool teachers” you see on TV, he began with a standard bland banality that said little and taught even less. “Today's admission standards are more rigorous than ever, which is why-”

 

“Can we move this along; maybe get to the relevant stuff? Some of us have things to do,” Jennifer said, trying to hide her irritation. She looked over at Jodie, who was staring at her in shock. Equally fed up with all the assumptions her classmates made just because she was quiet, she added, “What? I'm missing some premium nap time in Econ class.”

 

Taking the opportunity Jodie's silence gave, the instructor said, “Okay, okay. Topic one: testing. You have to know how to take a test. Like, when you get a multiple-choice question, you can usually eliminate two of the answers right off.”

 

He was interrupted again when Brittany raised her hand and asked, “Excuse me, sir? Does that work with true/false?”

 

The instructor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

Jennifer smiled and glanced over at Daria, noting that she also had written nothing on her notebook. _I swear, if he doesn't start saying something I didn't already know, I'm gonna demand my money back... okay, Mom's money back._

 

After nearly another twenty minutes of near-useless “advice”, the instructor started handing out some worksheets to the class. “Okay, this is an informational sheet Push Comes to Love sends around to 600 leading colleges. It's called 'My Personal Goals and Aspirations.' Let's all talk about college...”

 

Looking over the sheet, Jennifer was disappointed to see that again, almost nothing new to her was presented. So disgusted was she, that she almost missed the whisper from Kevin sitting next to Daria. “Pssst. Daria, what did you get for number one?”

 

Daria shot him an incredulous look. “The thing about who I really am?”

 

The jock was trying so hard to not look like he was cheating, even though Jennifer doubted the instructor would have cared, even if it  _had_ been that kind of class. “Yeah.”

 

“Try, 'cross-dresser',” she supplied.

 

“Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

 

Jennifer had to work to suppress her snickering. In order to take her mind off of the situation, she let her mind wander towards where she'd like to see herself in five years.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

> _Ducking into the small area backstage ahead of the rest of the Harpies, Jennifer wiped her face clear of sweat with a red paisley handkerchief from her jacket pocket. The black leather studded with spikes and chains, was fashionable as all get out, it was also hot as balls, especially under the flood lights of the club's stage. She came up to Daria, resplendent in a brown turtleneck and black slacks under her usual green wool trenchcoat, and accepted the ice-cold bottle of water. “Thanks. What did the club's owner say the numbers were like tonight?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Even though she had the numbers memorized, Daria still consulted the small notepad she pulled out of an interior pocket of her coat. “Better than last night's, actually. He had to turn away nearly a hundred people at the door, including the president's daughter again, because the people already in didn't want to leave until they heard you guys again.” She nodded a greeting at the rest of the Harpies as they kept moving past the pair, towards the tiny green room set aside for performers. It seemed even Monique was too bushed to stop and talk to Daria about their numbers tonight._
> 
>  
> 
> “ _All told, our take tonight is looking to be around eight thousand a piece. Factoring in travel expenses and lodging, this one night alone more than paid for the trip. Keep this up for the rest of the week, and we'll be able to head back to the cabin for a well deserved vacation until next month.” Daria put the pad back in her pocket and got a serious look on her face._
> 
>  
> 
> _Jennifer knew her too well to ignore a warning sign like this one. “What is it?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Daria bit her lip, slightly smearing the lipstick that subtly brought one's attention to them. “He's back.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _She didn't need to elaborate for Jennifer. This particular “He” was well known enough for her to know what she meant as soon as she said it; something in the inflection. Jennifer sighed and nodded, looking down at the floor. When she looked up again, both women were wearing shark-like grins that would make a pack of wolves think twice about approaching them. “I think we've strung him along long enough. What's his offer this time?”_
> 
>  
> 
> “ _Eighty-eight percent mechanical royalties.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Jennifer nodded her approval. “Much better. What do you think?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _With a shrug, Daria replied, “I think he's going to try to pare it down as much as he can in the final negotiations, but at least now we have some wriggle room. I believe it's time to call that firm my mom told us about. Honestly, the Abbey Road label is one of the better ones when it comes to treatment of its stable of artists, and they're always looking for a new sound like the one we're making. Not often one comes across a grunge-electronica band with a built-in fanbase as large as the Harpies'.”_
> 
>  
> 
> “ _He knows we're a package deal, right? He's not going to try to steal you away to write songs for other artists, is he?” The blonde actually sounded nervous when she asked._
> 
>  
> 
> _Daria shook her head. “He knows better after rumors spread of what happened to the last guy to try that. I'm not going anywhere without you... or the Harpies.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Jennifer gently took her hand and smiled. “Thanks, Dar. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you.”_
> 
>  

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer shook her head to clear it and returned to her worksheet. Still, she couldn't help but think about the strange twist her fantasy took.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer looked over at Kimberly, her mother as she drove. The woman had been insufferably happy since she had been approached for money for the college prep class. Now that they were actually on their way to look over the BFAC campus, it had gone from insufferable to downright jubilant- nay, rhapsodic. She was even singing along with R.E.M. On the radio about shiny, happy people, for crying out loud.

 

Perhaps noticing the grumpy staring, Kimberly looked over at her youngest daughter and smiled as she reached over to tousle her hair. “You know I'm proud of you, right Sweetie?”

 

Jennifer ducked away, preserving her dignity and coiffure. “Even if I decide not to go after all, and just continue with the band straight out of high school?”

 

Not even this attempt at beatuscide could destroy Kimberly's smile. “Even then. At least I'll know you're giving college some serious thought, unlike your sister.”

 

Samantha sat up from her reclined position in the back seat indignantly. “Hey! I'll have you know that I _did_ give it serious thought!”

 

Kimberly spared her eldest a withering glance in the rearview mirror. “Dear, cogitating over it on the toilet for five minutes is _not_ serious consideration. You shouldn't make important life decisions based on what your friends are doing. Had you _truly_ given it serious thought, you might be doing something more important right now than dishing out garbage pie to teenagers for minimum wage.”

 

“It is not minimum wage! I'm getting nine twenty-five an hour!” Samantha retorted.

 

“Can we please not argue about this right now?” Jennifer nearly shouted, startling her travel companions. It was not often that she raised her voice outside of the stage or practice. “I'm still not sure I even _want_ to go, let alone go to this one; standards and reputation notwithstanding. I may just go to Lawndale Community College if I even bother with it at all. At least _they_ don't have weird requirements for a music degree.”

 

She lapsed into a fuming silence, stewing over how she had gotten in this fix in the first place. She had not even really considered college before this, thinking of just following in her sister's footsteps and touring with the band. After looking into the kinds of courses fine arts colleges offer, she couldn't help but note how her interest had been piqued. Getting taught by professionals how to compose and arrange music, not to mention official choral classes instead of a defunct glee club which no one attended? Who knew such options existed?

 

Kimberly gently patted her daughter's knee by way of apology. “I'm sorry, Jenn. Just think of this trip as a nice little mini-vacation with a side trip to explore more options for you, okay? I don't want you to feel pressured into something you may regret.”

 

Arms encircled both the seat and her neck from behind, squeezing affectionately. “Yeah, sorry. Didn't mean to spoil the mood for you, Little Sis.”

 

Jennifer laid a hand on each of theirs and smiled. “Sorry I yelled. I just... I dunno.”

 

“Sweetie, you're a teenager. You're ninety percent hormones right now. I'd be concerned if you _didn't_ occasionally blow up at me,” Kimberly said, gently squeezing her knee.

 

“More like ninety-five percent. Fifteen is a rough year,” Samantha added.

 

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Oh, ew. You two aren't going to try to give me 'The Talk' again, are you?” The trio laughed, letting the tension get left behind on the road.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer glanced around the campus as the tour guide showed them the sights, noting just how many band geeks and art nerds were in attendance, and just how relaxed and at ease they seemed to be. No one was making fun of them for their interests, and it seemed like they even encouraged each other to loftier heights. The only altercation they saw was an _a cappella_ group getting into an argument with a bunch of artists who wanted to use the same outdoor space for something they called, “martial arts painting class”. The issue was resolved when the two leaders of the groups squared off and actually resolved the disagreement with a game of rock, paper, scissors, of all things.

 

The dorms were a lot more lax than Kimberly liked, with most of them being co-ed, and the RA's almost entirely absent. “How do you keep the students from getting into trouble here, with no RA in sight?” She gestured to the kids going in and out of rooms with little regard for whose they were, and the noisy instrument practice as well as the art supplies lying around everywhere.

 

“They aren't usually this bad, really, Mrs. Peterson,” the guide replied. “Dorm rules tend to be pretty lax here, but ideally, there _should_ be an RA in attendance, especially after classes, and the place not quite so messy.” She made a note on her clipboard, actually looking a little angry and embarrassed. “BFAC is a place where creativity flows, rather than getting stifled, but there's perhaps a bit _too_ much... er, 'creativity' flowing here,” she said, while trying to navigate around moldy pizza boxes, some stacked high enough to act as an end table. Opening the door leading to the outside, she said, “Why don't we head over to the Bursar's office, so you can discuss financing. I... need to make a quick stop at the dean's office.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

The corpulent, balding man sitting behind the desk in the richly appointed bursar's office wiped his sweaty brow with a damp handkerchief and brought out a handful of colorful brochures, all with smiling, happy students, some in their cap and gowns. “So you see, we have many options for financing education here, and even offer a few in-house scholarships for exceptional students.” He looked to Jennifer and asked, “What were you thinking of studying here, if I may ask?”

 

Jennifer gave a slight, nervous shrug. “Music production stuff. Not sure what exactly, but definitely arranging and vocal. Maybe piano and guitar as well. Still feeling it out, you know?”

 

The bursar smiled widely. “Aaahhh... an aspiring musician. I remember when I was your age, I had my own garage band. The Munsters, we called ourselves. Mostly surf/psychedelic rock with a smattering of pop covers. We broke up when our lead guitarist wanted to change to folk music.” He shook his head and looked sheepish. “Sorry. Missing my misspent youth.”

 

“No problem. It's a curse of getting older,” Kimberly said with a smile.

 

He sorted through the pamphlets for a moment before pulling one out the size and shape of a folder. “Here we are; the Presley Foundation Fund.” He laid it out on the desk, opening to a page near the back. “This one is for musicians, but requires you to be part of a band, orchestra, or quartet. If you're not already, then you may want to start now. They require you to be part of an active band or bands for no less than three years and perform in a variety of venues. That won't be a problem, will it?”

 

All three females gave a short round of laughter. Jennifer managed to gain control of her giggle fit first and said, “I've been in my sister's band for two years now as the vocalist. Well, officially two years; I was doing roadie work for them since I was ten. We mostly play in the Zon; the only real club where we live, but we have taken trips to neighboring towns to play clubs and bars.”

 

“Well now, that's certainly encouraging, and a very good start,” he said, startling the two younger girls, which caused their mother to smirk. “Just keep at it, while expanding your venues, and you'd be in the top five for the scholarship, easy.”

 

Samantha nervously asked, “Er, not to interrupt, but what would you suggest for expanding our horizons that would make Jenn a serious contender?”

 

Leaning back in his chair, the bursar folded his hands over his vast stomach. “Well, now. I would start maybe with some free concerts in the park; maybe leaving a hat out for donations if the busking laws in your city are lax; you'll want to look those up first. Also, look into performing at coffee houses, raves, maybe even the local mall. I would also take to passing out fliers for the band- er, what was the name?”

 

“The Harpies,” Jennifer supplied.

 

“All female band?” he asked, then nodded his approval. “Nice. So pass out fliers promoting the Harpies, maybe even look into making a web page for yourselves with free samples of your music.” He bent over in his chair to go through a desk drawer and pulled out a thin, folded up pamphlet. “Here we go. This will list some easy, common ways to promote your band. Even if you never attend BFAC, I'd like to see you achieve your dream, and be able to say, 'I knew her when she was just starting out.'”

 

Jennifer glanced through the single sheet pamphlet, and smiled excitedly. _I can't wait to show this to the rest! We're going to be the biggest thing to ever happen in Lawndale! Not that that's saying much._ She carefully put the paper in a pocket inside her jacket and smiled. “Thanks. This will come in really handy, I think.”

 

The man smiled back, and perhaps he sat up a bit straighter. “Always a pleasure.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

The ride back was considerably less miserable for Jennifer. She didn't even mind the beatific smile that seemed permanently plastered to her mother's face. She reread the smallest pamphlet again for the fifth time that day and daydreamed about how the Harpies were going to _explode_ on the club scene with these tips.

 

“Well, that was a lovely trip, despite the condition of the dorms,” Kimberly said in passing.

 

Samantha leaned forward and stole a piece of bacon jerky from the package in Jennifer's lap. “Yeah. If I had known college could be like that, _I_ might have decided to go after all, and made the girls go with me.”

 

Jennifer turned and slapped her sister's hand, which was reaching for another slice of jerky. “You had your chance!” With a smile, she faced forward again, and looked at the cover to the Presley Foundation pamphlet, running a finger over the likeness of Elvis that was the foundation's logo. “I think I'll try for it. The scholarship, I mean. Even if I don't get it, and we can't afford BFAC, there's always the community college, and like you said, it's all about options.” She looked over to her mom, who looked like she was about to cry, but was still smiling.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Back in the college prep course, Jennifer was telling Daria all about her experience at BFAC when the instructor walked in and sat on the corner of his desk again as if posing for a picture. “Okay, okay... so, like, let's all talk about our college experiences. Uh...”

 

Kevin perked up immediately, so eager to tell his story, that he didn't even bother to raise his hand. “My big brothers stripped me naked and covered me with molasses, and left me in the middle of a field at night! It was awesome!”

 

Brittany's smile rivaled Kevin's as she related her own trip. “I had a good time, too. I walked into the student center and these kids were reading poetry -- then they let me make up some of my own! And they were really interested in my feelings and thoughts and... stuff.”

 

Her boyfriend's smile fell and he gave her a confused look. “Huh? That sounds stupid.”

 

In a rare show of independent thought, Brittany tartly replied, “Shut up, naked boy.”

 

Trying to regain control of the class, the instructor looked over to Mack and asked, “What about you?”

 

Mack gave him a lopsided smile. “I learned about the first-string exemption. Turns out if you make the starting squad, you never have to take any exams.”

 

For the first time since starting the class, the instructor looked excited. “All right!”

 

However, Mack was quick to pop his bubble. “Yeah. I'm looking forward to a great education. May I please have my money back now?” he asked sarcastically.

 

The instructor was taken aback for a moment, but managed to keep a fake smile in place as he muttered, “You little...” He spotted Daria and Quinn, and desperate for a saving grace, he asked, “Oh, and you two. How did you like the famous Middleton College?”

 

Ever quick to throw her sister under the bus, Quinn said, “Daria got us thrown out.”

 

Arching an eyebrow, the elder Morgendorffer turned in her seat to look at her accuser. “ _I_ got us thrown out? I beg to differ, Keg Queen.”

 

“Keg Queen? Can I have your autograph?” Kevin asked, earning him a death glare from Brittany, and a cold shoulder from Quinn.

 

“Dream on, naked boy,” Quinn replied, turning her nose up at him.

 

Outraged, the instructor said, “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute! You got thrown out of _Middleton_? I- I just can't understand you kids sometimes. In my day, we had a little something called respect.”

 

Jennifer gave a short bark of laughter. “'In your day'? You're like, five years older than us, eight, tops.”

 

The instructor put his head in his hands, and began mumbling about no credit being worth this.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

_A/N: I have to say that this is the fastest I've ever put out a chapter this size. I guess my muse finally found her way out from that spa and back to me. I hope she keeps this up, because I've found writing to actually be a relaxing way to spend a lazy afternoon._

 

_So, yeah, this is Monique's first attempt at redemption; let's hope it sticks. I've always figured her for a bit of a control freak when it comes to her band, and it showed here. Sometimes it works, most times, not so much. That kind of attitude rubs people the wrong way, and performers don't often like being told what to do, especially if they think it's wrong or stupid. This also cements Jennifer's place in the Harpies, so you know she's not going anywhere without them._

 

_As for Jennifer's mom, I was tempted to make her Helen's office monkey, Marianne (as inspired by another Burnout Girl fic I read that never was completed), but after considering her pictures, I decided she was far too young to have a 20-something daughter. Heck, she looks too young to have a teenage daughter, so I made up someone entirely new._

 


	4. Cafe Side Effecto

_**Burned Out** _

 

**Chapter 4: Cafe Side Effecto**

 

Seeing Daria walk in the room, Jennifer breathed a sigh of relief. English class always seemed to go by a lot easier when she was around. She not only helped her understand the subject better than Mr. O'Neil ever could, but she had grown accustomed to actually having a friend to whom she could talk before and after (and sometimes during) class. It had only been a few weeks since the auburn- haired girl had entered her life, but the changes had been profound.

 

This time however, they didn't have to say more than hello before Mr. O'Neil came in looking troubled. “Class, I thought today we'd take a break from the tragedy of _Romeo and Juliet_ to discuss the real life tragedy that happened last night here in Lawndale. Let's share our feelings of violation following the loss of our beloved cybercafe, alt.lawndale.com. Who would like to start? ” He looked over to Kevin after checking his seating chart, and said, “Charles? Charles, did you hear me?”

 

“You mean Kevin?” the football jock replied in confusion.

 

Mr. O'Neil blushed as he double-checked his charts, and switched it with another behind the one he read. “Kevin, heh. I'm sorry. You uh, look like somebody else. What do you have to say about last night's horrible event?”

 

Like any teen when asked a question about a crime by an adult, he immediately went into denial mode. “I was home all night. You can ask my parents. Besides, I already have a computer.”

 

Shaking his head, O'Neil tried a different phrasing. “No, Kevin. I mean, how did the theft make you _feel_?”

 

Kevin's face looked like he was trying to solve three calculus problems at once. “Um... sad?”

 

O'Neil's eyebrow quirked up. “Are you asking me, or telling me?”

 

“Angry?” Kevin tried.

 

Heaving a tiny sigh of disappointment, the teacher moved on to someone else. “Hmm... Jodie, how about you?”

 

Jodie crossed her legs as she replied, “I think the cybercafe served one very particular segment of the community, but it still pisses me off when people take what isn't theirs.”

 

“That's how I feel!” Kevin interjected.

 

“Thank you, Kevin,” O'Neil said before returning to his pontificating. “Jodie, about that word, "community." Isn't that the whole idea of a cybercafe? To jack us into the global community? I think what's most disturbing about this crime is the symbolism involved.” He turned to look at another student. “Don't you agree, Jane?”

 

The girl gave a simple, one-word response. “No.”

 

However, O'Neil was now on a roll, and it almost appeared he didn't even hear her reply. “Suddenly, we're cut off. We can't hail our friends across the globe and say, 'It's a beautiful day in the cyberhood.' They didn't just take a few computers. They took the symbol of our virtual community. To visit alt-dot-lawndale-dot-com was to come together with the planet!”

 

“Oh, come on,” Daria said, finally bringing his pulpiteering to an end.

 

More curious than insulted, O'Neil looked at her inquisitively. “Yes?”

 

This time, it was Daria's turn to mount the soap box. “'Come together with the planet'? By staring at a screen for hours? Sitting in a room full of people you never say a word to?”

 

Mr. O'Neil rested his chin in his hand as he pondered this. “Hmm... an interesting point, Dorian.”

 

“Daria.”

 

Looking down at the seating chart more closely, Mr. O'Neil noticed a small spider next to Daria's name, partially obscuring it. In an uncharacteristic show of primal masculinity, he smashed it with his hand and brushed it off onto the floor. “Uh! Damn spiders. Daria, you believe that while connecting Lawndale citizens to our global neighbors, the cafe was alienating us from each other.”

 

“I'm saying if you really miss the place, put a Mr. Coffee in the computer lab,” she replied.

 

However, Mr. O'Neil now had a new toy to chew on, and wasn't keen on letting it go. “So, in your opinion, what we really need is a return to the traditional coffee house of yore, where you'd watch some performers and share a cup with your friends, face to face.”

 

Jennifer leaned over to her and said, “Truly, you are a visionary.”

 

Mr. O'Neil leaned back against his desk and pounded a fist into his other palm. “Right here; right now, let's pledge to make Daria's dream a reality!”

 

“You mean the one where people walking down the street burst into flames?” she asked, with apparent sudden interest.

 

“The coffee house! We'll plan it, locate it, raise the money, and open it!” the teacher replied enthusiastically.

 

Jennifer leaned over and whispered, “My uncle has a barn, we can use that!”

 

Daria whispered back, “And for coffee beans we can use regular beans. It's brilliant.” A sudden thought occurred to her and she spoke up so the teacher could hear her. “Question; would this count as an extracurricular activity?”

 

“Of course it will,” Mr. O'Neil replied happily.

 

“Then I'd like to register as a conscientious objector,” she said.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer leaned back in the desk chair in her room, as she contemplated the list before her. “Hmm... The busking is a bust; it's not allowed at all in Lawndale. We'd need to reserve a gazebo in the park if we want to put on a free concert, and the waiting list for that is pretty bad on the weekends. Only hope there is if someone cancels at the last minute, and it would take to long to set up then. We could try El Ranchero, but I kinda doubt that's the kind of club whose audience would welcome the Harpies.” She threw the pen down in disgust and scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.

 

Just then, the doorbell rang, but she didn't bother to get up. _Sam will take care of whoever it is._ The blonde returned to contemplating the patterns in the ceiling, and was surprised when there was a hesitant knock on her door, followed by Daria's head poking in.

 

“Um, I'm not disturbing you, am I?”

 

Sitting upright, Jennifer motioned over towards the bed as a seat. “No, just wondering how to approach the rest of the band with a proposal to perform more, without having anywhere  _to_ perform.”

 

“Oh.” Daria looked a little down at that. “Are there really so few places in town to perform?” Jennifer raised one eyebrow at her, and the girl shook her head. “Right, silly of me. The _is_ Lawndale, after all.”

 

“Where excitement comes to die,” Jennifer agreed.

 

They sat there in silence for a moment, until Daria broke it again. “This may be the last weekend I have free for a while. My mom has voluntold me to participate for that stupid coffee shop idea of Mr. O'Neil's. Something about looking good for college applications.”

 

“I thought it was mostly about whether or not you could pay, these days,” Jennifer asked.

 

Daria shrugged noncommittally. “She insists that there are some schools that still look for a quote/unquote: 'well-rounded student.'” She held up her fingers in an air-quote gesture. “I asked her if these were the same colleges that believed the Earth to be flat.”

 

Jennifer chuckled as she imagined Daria saying just that to her mother. “What was her response?”

 

“It went from a 'request' to parental commandment.” Needless to say, Daria didn't look too pleased by the situation.

 

“You know...” Jennifer said with a sly smile, “a coffeehouse would be an ideal place to expose new potential audience members to a band. A whole, untapped collection of ears.”

 

“Let's just hope these ears stay attached to their heads, and not mailed to their significant others,” Daria replied with a wry grin.

 

“Optimist,” Jennifer shot back. “What about you, though? Thinking of reciting some of your own work onstage?”

 

Daria shook her head emphatically. “No way. It's bad enough when Mr. O'Neil recites it in class. Read by me on a literal stage with up to a dozen sets of eyes on me? May as well have my parents in the audience, and go for the trifecta.”

 

Jennifer leaned back in the chair again, making it squeak. “Yeah, it's not for everyone. If it weren't for the lights blinding me to the actual audience, I doubt I could do it myself.”

 

“So, I take it, you're going to get the Harpies to perform there?” Daria asked.

 

With a nod, Jennifer replied, “It may take some doing, but I'll try. I know Monique and Lisa aren't too keen on coffeehouses on general principle, Lisa more so than Monique. Personally, I think it's because they think that all coffeehouses are like the one on _Friends_ or something.” Looking over to her friend, she asked, “So, what are you planning to do, if not recite?”

 

Daria collapsed backwards on the bed, letting her feet dangle off the side. “Fundraising, I guess. That seems pretty safe.”

 

Jennifer thought about it for a minute, then nodded, even though Daria couldn't see it. “Want some company? It'll cut a little into practice time, but I think I can spare an hour or two after school to go door-to-door with you.”

 

Daria sighed and gave a limp wave of her hand without sitting up. “No, it's okay. You're going to have your hands full with the thing you're doing; throwing in fundraising with me will just add unnecessary hassle.”

 

Swiveling the chair to face the bed properly, Jennifer said, “Daria, friends aren't a hassle.”

 

Daria lifted her head to see her properly and gave a small smile. “Thanks, Jenn.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Daria and Jennifer approached the suburban house with trepidation. So far today, they had rung the bell on fifteen houses. Six were either empty or not answering, five were “No thank you”s, and four only bought one chocolate bar to make them go away. Jennifer looked through the mostly full box on top in disappointment, noting the persistent presence of the chocolate. “If we don't sell a lot more of these soon, we're definitely not going to make quota this weekend, and you'll have to do it again next weekend.”

 

Daria's shoulders slumped in defeat. “One weekend is bad enough. Let's just sell these stupid things and move on with our lives.” She rang the doorbell, and they waited.

 

Jennifer was about to ring the bell again when it opened to reveal a very large woman in a moo-moo, sweating profusely and wheezing.

 

“Um, hi. I'm selling chocolate bars for the new student coffeehouse,” Daria said.

 

The woman looked at her in confusion and asked, “New coffeehouse?”

 

“Our cybercafe got robbed,” Jennifer helpfully supplied.

 

Wiping her brow with a handkerchief, the woman replied, “Well, I enjoy chocolate. Doctor says I'm not supposed to have too much of it, but he wouldn't mind if it's for a good cause.” She stepped away to fetch her purse, and Jennifer craned her neck to look around the door, noting all the plastic fruit displayed in bowls everywhere. She returned and rummaged through her purse, searching for money. “Just... just a second, girls.” She paused for a moment, swaying on her feet as sweat dripped from her face and soaked her dress.

 

Daria started to look a little concerned. “Are you all right?”

 

The woman wiped her brow again and wheezed out, “Yeah- yeah. Just- just, I was in the basement when the doorbell rang. Need to catch my breath a little. How many chocolate bars you got there?”

 

“We've got about two boxes. That's twenty,” Daria answered.

 

The woman's face had gone pale, but she still appeared happy. “Tell you what. I'll take all of them.”

 

Jennifer was dubious as well, catching on that something was wrong here. “All of them? Are you sure about that?”

 

“You sure that's okay with your doctor?” Daria asked.

 

The woman beamed at them and winked conspiratorially. “It's okay as long as he don't know about it!” She resumed her futile search through the purse, then said something that confused both of the girls. “Dammit! Where's that purse?”

 

“Umm...” Jennifer said just as the woman leaned heavily against the door frame and fell over backwards in a dead faint. The thump she made as she hit the floor could be felt through their boots. “Uh, is that normal?”

 

Daria looked like a deer caught in the headlights as she stared at the scene before her. “Uh, oh,” she said helpfully.

 

Jennifer was also staring down at the collapsed woman in shock. “Should we be giving her CPR? I don't know any CPR, do you know CPR?”

 

“I once gave the Heimlich Maneuver to Quinn.”

 

“Did it help?”

 

“She wasn't choking.”

 

“I really think we should be doing something right now,” Jennifer said with an edge of rising panic in her voice.

 

“Yeah, I think you're right.” There was a moment of silence, and then Daria gently kicked the bottom of the woman's slipper-clad foot.

 

As if she had found her reset button, the woman roused, one hand going to her head. With great effort, she slowly rose to her feet unsteadily. “Damn hypoglycemia. I'm sorry, girls, I'm holding up the works. Okay, now. How much apiece on those chocolate bars?”

 

Daria closed the box and lowered her arms so it didn't seem like she was presenting the bars anymore. “Ma'am, I'm not sure I can sell you any chocolate bars.”

 

Immediately, the woman's expression shifted to anger. “What's the matter; my money's not good enough for you?” she spat out.

 

“It's not that, it's just... maybe it's not such a good idea.” Daria took a step back to put some distance between them.

 

The woman reached out, trying to grab the box from her. “Gimme those chocolate bars!”

 

Appearing much relieved, Jennifer stepped back as well. “Thanks for the offer though, ma'am. I hope this hippo glycomol works out for you.”

 

As a parting gesture, Daria added, “We could call your doctor or the hospital if you like. Otherwise, we'll be going.”

 

The woman shouted at their retreating backs, “I don't need a damn doctor, I need a damn chocolate bar! Gimme! I'll pay ya five bucks a piece!”

 

“Have a nice day, ma'am,” Daria said without turning around.

 

As they turned onto the sidewalk, they could hear the woman shouting like a petulant child from her porch, “I want those chocolate bars! I want chocolate, dammit!”

 

“I'm not sure I could handle another one like that,” Jennifer said. She looked down at her watch and groaned. “I need to get back. Sam was gonna take me to Monique's so I could talk to the girls about doing this coffeehouse gig.”

 

Daria looked down at the boxes and sighed. “Just as well, I suppose. I'm not sure _I_ could take another house like that. I'm going home. Maybe tomorrow will be better.” She rummaged through the box and pulled out one of the fundraising bars, handing it over to Jennifer. “Here. You deserve it after that. My treat.”

 

Jennifer smiled and took the bar, breaking it in half and giving one back to Daria. “I think we both do. See you tomorrow, partner.”

 

Taking a bite of the bar, Daria smiled at her friend's retreating back.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Taking a swallow of water to wash down the chocolate, Jennifer said, “So, that's the deal. We play at this student lounge-”

 

“ _Coffeehouse,”_ Lisa snarled, correcting the band's youngest member.

 

“Fine, _coffeehouse_ , and we drum up some attention for the band, hopefully getting some fresh faces to watch us at the Zon or wherever. Who knows? Maybe someone there will like us so much, they'll hire us to perform,” the small blonde finished.

 

Monique leaned back in the couch, contemplating the proposal. “I dunno. A coffeehouse is just so... pedestrian and pretentious. And besides, will Mr. O'Neil even let us play? You're the only one of us still in school, and this is a school thing, and he's pretty uptight, from what I remember of him.”

 

Shrugging, Jennifer replied, “Sure, he can be uptight, but I've already cleared it with him, so no problems there. As for it being a coffeehouse, remember that this is a  _school funded_ coffeehouse, so the pretension there is going to be fairly minimal or at most, juvenile. Worst case scenario, we get booed offstage. You really think our rep is gonna be hurt by  _high schoolers_ booing us in a school coffeehouse?”

 

“Well, _I_ think it's a great idea!” Sylvie said, bouncing in her seat next to Samantha.

 

Lisa glared at her, the uncharacteristic emotion seeming all the stronger for being so out of place. “You think everything is a great idea.”

 

Unperturbed, Sylvie replied with a smile, “Oh, you're just grumpy because it's in a coffeehouse; and it  _is_ a good idea. Anything that increases our exposure can't be  _all_ bad.”

 

“Why don't we put it to a vote, then? Try out our newfound democracy?” Samantha suggested. “All in favor of the proposed gig?” Her hand was joined by Jennifer's and Sylvie's, but the most surprising was Monique's. “Opposed?” Only Lisa's hand went up, but it seemed reluctant to be up.

 

Monique stood and brushed her skirt down. “Now that  _that's_ settled, let's talk songs...”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Standing next to Principal Li's desk, Mr. O'Neil studied his hands, reading to himself the names he had written there. “Daria... Jennifer. Daria... Jennifer. Daria... Jennifer.”

 

The door opened, allowing Daria and Jennifer to enter. Ms. Li gestured towards the two chairs before her desk. “Come in, Ms. Morgendorffer, Ms. Peterson. Sit down.” Once seated, she said, “The school received a phone call this morning from a Mrs. Johannsen. She said two girls came to her door to sell her chocolate bars, and then suddenly refused to do so, even after she offered five dollars a bar, or more than _twice_ the asking price.”

 

With a shrug, Daria replied, “She was hypoglycemic. The chocolate would've killed her.”

 

“It's true,” Jennifer added. “She must have weighed three hundred pounds. When she collapsed in front of us, we could feel the impact.”

 

Ms. Li got a sly look on her face and asked, “Did she ask you to _feed_ her the chocolate?”

 

“No...” Daria answered, not liking where this was headed.

 

Steepling her fingers, Ms. Li leaned forward, trying her best to look authoritarian and in control. “How do you know that the chocolate wasn't for her family?”

 

Jennifer was unperturbed by the show. “Look, she collapsed in front of us. If we  _had_ sold her the chocolate and she had been hospitalized because of it, how do you think Lawndale High would look?”

 

“I don't follow,” Ms. Li replied.

 

“Think about it. Students of this school selling something which hospitalized someone when it was plain to anyone that it was dangerously unhealthy for her? And if you think _we_ were going to fall on our swords for this and accept the full blame, then you're obviously overestimating our school spirit.” Jennifer's words seemed to percolate in Ms. Li's head, and her shoulders slumped a little.

 

Mr. O'Neil however still had more to say. “Daria, Jean, we're two hundred dollars short of what we need to open the coffeehouse.”

 

Ms. LI nodded sadly. “Well, I can't force you to do fundraising, but I can't give you credit for participating in the coffee house project, either.”

 

Brightening as if struck by a brilliant idea, Mr. O'Neil asked, “Wait. Daria, what about what we discussed? Reading something on opening night.”

 

“I don't think so...” Daria said, clearly not liking the idea.

 

Ms. Li looked at her speculatively, knowing she had her over a barrel. “You  _do_ want this extracurricular activity, don't you?”

 

Seeing that she needed a little push, Jennifer leaned over and whispered from the side of her mouth, “Pop goes the weasel...”

 

The corners of Daria's mouth turned down slightly and her gaze hardened. “...Fine,” she bit out through her teeth.

 

“Wonderful!” Mr. O'Neil exclaimed.

 

Ms. Li looked relieved at having won even this small concession, though her expression didn't lighten in the least. “Although I still don't know where we're going to find that two hundred dollars. Well, maybe the freshman volunteers will make up some of it.”

 

At that moment, Quinn walked in without bothering to knock, her hands and pockets stuffed to overflowing with cash. “Hi. You got any more of those phone cards?”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Daria sorted through a stack of papers on the floor of her bedroom, looking decidedly unhappy, while Jennifer paged through a guitar magazine on her bed. Finding a likely candidate, she pulled out a small pile paperclipped together and asked, “How about, 'The Bleakness That Lies Ahead'?”

 

Jennifer shook her head, momentarily showing both eyes. “Nah. Too mushy.”

 

“'No Life, No Hope, No Future'?”

 

“Too optimistic.”

 

“'Mommy's Little Hypocrite'?”

 

“Too much like a Dr. Seuss book.”

 

Dropping the papers, Daria leaned against the bed and sighed. “I wish I were dead.”

 

Jennifer tilted her head in interest. “That sounds promising.” Looking down at her, she smiled. “Look, you're making much ado about nothing. These are your _classmates_ were talking about, not a talent scout for a publishing firm. These are the same people who- mostly- did not realize that you were comparing them to barnyard animals in that one paper of yours Mr. O'Neil read aloud to the class.”

 

“Don't remind me,” Daria replied. “What are you getting at?”

 

Jennifer rolled over so that her head was hanging upside down off the side of the bed next to Daria's, her hair curtaining down. “What I'm  _getting_ at, is that you don't have to read something perfect, just something they'll find entertaining. Keep in mind that these people turn 'simple tastes' into an art form unto itself, and I'm sure you'll find the perfect thing to read.”

 

Daria rolled her eyes and let her head rest against Jennifer's as she let out another sigh. “Well, that leaves out anything I've already written. Guess I'll just have to bite the bullet and write something new for the occasion.”

 

“That's the lack of spirit!” Jennifer said happily.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Opening night was an interesting affair, to say the least. Charles did a series of card tricks and parlor routines which pretty much devolved into him trying to get every girl's phone number in the room... unsuccessfully. Joey, Jeffie, and Jamie tried to imitate Quinn's favorite boy band, Boys2Guys, even going so far as to dress up like them, but failed to notice that she wasn't even in attendance.

 

A boy Jennifer recognized from guitar class performed as well, but due to a lack of talent, the best thing he did onstage was smash his guitar. The lyrics to his song were something worthy of a Mystik Spiral cover, and to make up for lack of singing ability, he screamed them out at the top of his lungs.

 

Brittany and Kevin tried to reenact a scene from Romeo and Juliet, but thanks to Kevin's total lack of preparedness and social graces, he did not bother to memorize his lines, and brought a plastic Halloween skull onstage.

 

After Andrea's poem recital, the Harpies came on and performed Deadly is the Night, stirring the audience up into a frenzy. Mr. O'Neil was standing in a corner, wringing his hands, worried that the crowd would turn ugly, and was glad that the number of performers limited them to one song.

 

Students were standing and cheering, and some who knew the song were singing along to the chorus, while the adults carefully kept an eye on them to make sure their rowdiness didn't get too out of hand. Thankfully, the crowd reaction was fairly tame, so when the band finished up, the adults breathed a sigh of relief to find that nothing more serious than a coffee mug or two were broken. The Harpies left the stage, breaking down their gear while Monique said, “Thank you! If you're interested, we're performing at the Zon this weekend!”

 

Mr. O'Neil took the stage as they departed, but had to wait several minutes for the crowd to settle down enough to be heard over them. “Wow, talk about raw emotions! Speaking of raw emotions, it's my pleasure to introduce one of Lawndale High's most gifted writers: Daria Morgendorffer.”

 

Daria stood before the microphone and stared out into the audience until the shop had gone almost silent. “Thank you. Tonight I'd like to read a new story I've written entitled, 'Where The Future Takes Us'.” Looking down at the paper, she ignored the bored and disinterested looks on the audience, most of whom were still keyed up from the Harpies' song.

 

“As students standing at the dawn of a brand new century, we face certain choices. How do we prepare for the future? Melody Powers knew how she was going to prepare, as she checked the fit one more time on her tooled leather shoulder holster. She thought about all the communists she would be taking out tonight.”

 

A few of the students perked up at the implications of what she said. “Melody harbored no illusions about unilaterally stemming the resurging red tide. 'But,' she reflected with a grim smile, 'what special agent could resist the opportunity to fill a few Bolshevik cemeteries?'”

 

Mr. O'Neil looked decidedly unsure of the topic of this story, but did not stop her. As the story wore on, the audience became more rapt in their attention, and the teacher grew more and more uncomfortable with the situation. As Daria wrapped up the story, the students leaped to their feet, cheering.

 

A small smile graced her face as she turned to walk off the stage.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Kimberly breathed a sigh of relief as she collapsed on the couch next to her daughters.

 

“Rough night, Mom?” Jennifer asked.

 

“You can say that again,” she replied. “Had to work overtime just to get the headline about the riot last night done in time.”

 

Samantha looked over at her curiously. “Riot? In _Lawndale_?”

 

Kimberly waved her hand dismissively. “Police are calling it a riot, but you know what they're like here. They think any gathering of people larger than two is cause for concern.” She looked over at them without lifting her head from the back of the couch. “You two wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?”

 

Jennifer shook her head. “We were here all night after we left the coffee shop.”

 

Pulling a photo out of her blazer, her mother said, “Good. I'd hate to think I kept this off of the front page for nothing.”

 

Jennifer took the photo and smiled as she showed it to Samantha, who also smiled. “I'm sure it's just coincidence that someone spray painted 'Harpies Rule!' on a wall where this 'riot' took place.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

_A/N: It's pretty interesting to see these events through the eyes of another character. If nothing else, I'm glad I did this project just for that. If you guys like the story, that's great. If you see something that could be improved upon, or you would like to see happen, leave a comment. Suggestions, while welcomed, may not be used, so don't get discouraged if that happens, but I can't count the number of times I've been inspired by a comment on one of my stories._

 


	5. Molled

_**Burned Out** _

 

**Chapter 5: Molled**

 

With a growl of frustration, Jennifer balled up the sheet of paper and threw it at the kitchen garbage can, missing it entirely. The ball landed in a pile of other paper balls, rolling around until it found a spot in which to settle. She let her head slam onto the table and groaned in frustration.

 

She heard the front door open and her sister call out, “I'm home!” but didn't raise her head. Samantha walked into the kitchen, taking off her work visor and dropped it onto the table along with a bag of Chinese take out. “Rough day?” she asked as she settled into the chair opposite her.

 

Rather than lift her head to look at her, Jennifer rolled it until her sister came into view, and glared at her. “How can writing lyrics be so difficult? I sing them well enough. Why is this so hard?”

 

Samantha leaned over and gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “And now, you've learned the lesson that I did years ago. We're not all cut out for everything. Remember when _I_ tried my hand at it? Remember how long _that_ lasted? Yeah, I may not be the best example for perseverance, but you look at successful songs, and you think, 'Hey, _I_ can do better than that.' What you don't realize is that there's more to songwriting than a vague idea and a rhyming scheme.” She shrugged and leaned back in her chair, pulling out the boxes of take out from the bag. “Like anything creative, it takes talent. Sure, you can get by with some luck and a lot of hard work and practice, but there's no replacement for true talent. Granted, Monique has the most in our band when it comes to songwriting, but I can tell you right now, we're going to need something more if we're going to have a breakthrough. 'Good enough' just isn't good enough.”

 

Jennifer sat up and picked up a pair of chopsticks, digging into her beef and broccoli stir fry. She considered mentioning an idea that had been percolating in her head for weeks now, but was hesitant to do so.  _Maybe I'm not desperate enough, yet. Or maybe I'm just afraid of changing things in a bad way, and not being able to return to the way things are._ She shook her head and asked, “What about Sylvie? I know that Lisa isn't the type to take it up, but surely Sylvie at least tried it once.”

 

Samantha gave a bark of laughter, spraying the table with rice. “Hah! Sorry,” she said, wiping up the mess with a napkin. “But Sylvie writing our songs? There's a reason we call her chirpy, you know. The one time she showed one to us, I had to physically hold back Monique from trying to throw her out of the band for quote: 'conduct unbecoming a Harpy' end quote.”

 

“It couldn't have been _that_ bad,” Jennifer remarked skeptically.

 

Samantha swallowed her bit of egg roll and said, “Well, let me put it this way. Playing this song would have required a genre shift on the order of Kenny Rogers.”

 

It took Jennifer a moment to catch the reference, whereupon she nodded. She sighed and returned to eating, while trying to come up with some new song lyrics.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer struggled to keep her eyes open while Mrs. Bennet diagrammed what looked like an overly complicated Hail Mary Pass on the chalkboard.

 

“In economics, we call this flow. We have a scenario of supply and demand, where a new demand is created by a previous supply. Does everyone follow?” She turned to look out over the class, disappointed to note that only a few appeared to be paying attention, while the rest grappled with the Sandman. She tried to get the class involved again by asking them directly. “Can anyone give me a concrete representation of this abstract theory?” A distinct lack of hands in the air showed that of those who _were_ paying attention, they either didn't understand what she had explained, or were hesitant to get involved. With a sigh, she called on one of the two or three students she knew for a fact not only listened to her lesson, but also likely understood it. “Daria?”

 

Reluctantly, Daria replied, “If we're talking concrete, I'd have to go with that repository of human greed and debasement: the mall.”

 

Mrs. Bennet smiled in relief that someone had absorbed her lesson. “Very good, Daria. The mall is a very beautiful illustration of all these economic principles. In fact, it would make for an excellent field trip.”

 

Upon hearing those magic words, Kevin woke up. “Alright! Field trip!” Confusion quickly overtook the joy on his face and he leaned over to Daria and whispered, “Where are we going, man?”

 

Daria rolled her eyes, and didn't bother to try to conceal her reply from the teacher. “The field.”

 

This seemed to be enough to satisfy the jock. “Cool.”

 

“We'll visit that brand new Mall of the Millennium. It's a perfect emblem of a modern day economic structure,” Mrs. Bennet said, studiously ignoring the interruption.

 

Daria seemed to be harboring her doubts, however. “Um, I think that's a really bad idea.”

 

Mrs. Bennet seemed dead set on this new course. “Don't be silly, Daria. It's your idea, and it's perfect.”

 

Raising her hand, Jennifer didn't bother to wait to be called on. “I have to agree with Daria. A bunch of teenagers loose in a mall during school hours a hundred miles from home, and only one adult to supervise? I _can't_ see how this won't end in bloodshed.”

 

“Or at least someone left behind, _Missing in Action_ style,” Daria added.

 

Kevin punched the air excitedly. “Yeah! Chuck Norris is the man!”

 

Mrs. Bennet raised her hands in a placating gesture. “We'll take a vote. All in favor of a class trip to the mall next Friday instead of our usual surprise quiz?” Naturally, all but two of the class cheered. When they had quieted down a little she asked, “All opposed?” Again, only Daria and Jennifer raised their hands calmly.

 

The matter settled, Brittany said, “This is great! Kevin and I love going to the mall during school.” She noted the frown Mrs. Bennet shot her way and tried to amend her statement. “I mean, between classes. I mean... what do I mean, babe?” She turned to Kevin, looking for assistance.

 

His usual “helpful” self, he replied, “What's the difference, babe? You look hot,” earning him an adoring look from his girlfriend.

 

Daria was desperate to get out of this, saying, “I'm sorry, Mrs. Bennett. I can't go to the mall. I have a skin condition.”

 

“What are you talking about, Daria?” the teacher asked.

 

Daria rubbed a hand over one arm. “If I'm in an enclosed space for too long, I get hives.”

 

Mrs. Bennet said in a confused tone, “But, you're in an enclosed space right now.”

 

“And I'm... really itchy?” the girl attempted.

 

Coming to her friend's rescue, Jennifer added, “I've seen them, Mrs. Bennet. One of them looks like the battle of Gettysburg.” She saw Daria's glare at her and asked, “What?”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

It could never be said that Jennifer was heavy into literature, especially “the Classics”, but she knew a little. Ceaser needed to pick better friends, Romeo and Juliet were typical idiot teenagers that would fit right in with today's generation, and the less said about Hamlet's family, the better. But one quote from the Bard himself always stuck with her, and it seemed more appropriate now than ever. “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”

 

Daria looked over at her from her place in the bus set next to her and nodded. “Hell is other people. -Sartre.”

 

Kevin seemed intent on proving both of them right as he continued to sing _100 Bottles of Beer_ at the top of his lungs, complete with emphasis on odd words. “ _Seventy_ eight bottles of _beer_ on the wall, _seventy_ eight bottles of _beer_! If _one_ of those bottles should _happen_ to fall, _seventy_ -seven bottles of-”

 

“Babe? That's a really cute song and all, but do you think you could stop for a while?” The tension visibly eased out of several people with Brittany's plea for a reprieve.

 

Kevin scratched the back of his head with a football that never seemed to leave his hand. “Sorry, babe. We always sing that song on the team bus. It makes us _fierce_!”

 

Brittany was unimpressed with his reasoning. “You're not _on_ the team bus now. I'm not your teammate. I'm your girlfriend! We talked about the difference, remember?”

 

“Sorry...” a contrite Kevin replied in a singsong tone.

 

Wanting to make sure he got the message, she added, “Would you rather do what we do... with your teammates?”

 

It took Kevin a moment of contemplation to catch her meaning. “Blah!” he cried out in disgust.

 

Smug with victory, Brittany faced forward again. “All right, then.” The victory was short lived, however, as Kevin began humming the song, earning him a punch in the arm from the girl.

 

Against all rules and common sense to the contrary, Mrs. Bennet struggled to keep her feet at the front of the bus, the rough road combined with the shoddy suspension of the poorly maintained vehicle doing their best to throw her to the floor. “Sealed in glass though it may be, in its own way, the mall can be viewed as a living organism...”

 

Daria and Jennifer were doing their best to not gain anything of value from the “lesson” when Charles came over to them. “Ladies! Are you aware of the advantages of a gold card?” He flashed a credit card at them, along with a million-peso smile. “Very advantageous when it belongs to your father. Dad wants me to pick up some bikinis for his secretary, but I need a couple of models. The two of you are about her size. What do you say, gals?”

 

Jennifer looked up at him with borderline contempt. “I'd say you need to update your pickup lines. 'Gals' has been out of style for about forty years now. Also, do we _look_ like we'd be interested in modeling bikinis?”

 

“I think I'm gonna be sick,” Daria mumbled.

 

Giving Charles a mock glare, Jennifer said, “Now see what you did, Upchuck? You're making Daria live up to your name.”

 

Daria shook her head and covered her mouth with a hand. “It's not him. It's the fumes. It smells like... it smells like...”

 

Jennifer took a whiff and wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, I smell it, too. Did someone soak a dead skunk in cheap perfume and leave it in the sun for a week?” Daria urped a little, forcing the gorge back down.

 

They were rescued from Charles by a hand on his shoulder roughly pulling him back away from the seat. “Aren't there any bimbos on this bus you could con into giving you a show?” The speaker and hand belonged to a stocky girl with too much mascara and black makeup who sat next to Daria, edging them further into the seat.

 

Jennifer gave her a wry smile. “Hey, Andrea. Slumming it with the outcasts?”

 

Andrea glared at Charles until he slunk away, and she turned back to her new seatmates. “Oh, you know me, Jenn. I like to spread the joy that is my company.” She was definitely self-deprecating, but there was a hint of guilt in her voice that Daria caught. She looked over to the girl next to her and said, “I heard you needed some air. You gotta know what you're doing with the windows on the buses here, or you'll never get them open.” She leaned over and banged the window frame with a fist, causing it to fall open.

 

Fresh air blew in, easing the nausea Daria was feeling, though not eliminating it entirely. “Urp. Thanks,” Daria said, holding a hand to her stomach, which forced her to offer her left hand to shake. “Daria, by the way.”

 

Andrea looked at the hand for a moment as if she were being offered a dead fish before taking it. “Andrea. I caught your story at the coffee house. Not usually my cup of tea, but pretty engrossing. I like how it incited the in-crowd to storm the nonexistent Russian embassy in Lawndale. I'm sure if someone were keeping score, you would have gotten extra points for that.”

 

“It warms the cockles of my heart to imagine half the football team wandering aimlessly downtown with makeshift torches and pitchforks, looking for it. A shame I didn't plan it that way,” Daria replied.

 

“But now that you know it's possible...” Jennifer ventured.

 

Daria shot her a small smile. “I'll be sure to aim higher in future.”

 

Andrea put a finger to her chin in thought. “Maybe something that ends with them sealing themselves up behind a brick wall?”

 

Shaking her head, Daria replied, “Well, I don't have any Amontillado handy, though I'm sure I could convince the woodshop class into constructing a pendulum for me.”

 

“Well, it's something to look forward to, at least,” Jennifer said.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

The bus pulled up at the loading zone in front of the Mall of the Millennium and opened the door, disgorging students. Mrs. Bennet wasted no time herding the kids into a waiting tram, which would take them to the entrance. A voice spoke out over the tram's audio system. “Welcome to the Mall of the Millennium, the world's second or third largest mall.”

 

“Funny how they don't even try to claim largest in the state, or whatever,” Jennifer said as she guided a decidedly green-looking Daria to the waiting area.

 

Following behind them, Andrea shrugged. “Hey, second or third largest in the world is still impressive.”

 

Jennifer looked back at her and smiled. “Sure, in the same way that the Three Mile Island leak being the second worst in the wold was impressive.”

 

“Comparing a mall full of people buying things they don't need to a nuclear reactor oozing out dangerous radiation? How apropos, Jenn,” Andrea said.

 

“Ulp. Here it comes...” Daria said just seconds before leaning over the side of the tram and releasing her breakfast onto the parking lot.

 

Jennifer patted her comfortingly on the back as Andrea gestured to the mall, saying, “Willkommen zu Mall of the Millennium.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

The mall itself was a towering monument to consumerism. Four levels with a huge atrium that housed a roller coaster, and a fifth level underground convention hall. The theater sported thirty-two screens, and the food court was larger than most department stores, holding a variety of chain restaurants that would put a state fair's midway to shame. Needless to say, this all added up to a huge distraction for a group of thirty teenagers, who at this time of day, would normally be in class learning about integers or the Hundred Years War.

 

As Mrs. Bennet prattled on about areas, sections, and colors, occasionally consulting with an artsy girl in their class, Jennifer gawked at the sea of humanity, while Daria leaned on her for support and Andrea approximated a decent impression of someone too cool for the room, though she was giving the chain goth store more than a casual glance.

 

“So this is the heart of darkness,” the goth girl said.

 

Jennifer rolled her eyes, because she had saw the way she had been eying a spiked leather collar, though it might have just as easily been the The Cure t-shirt displayed next to it. “Oh, come on. It's not _that_ bad. At least they stopped sacrificing kittens right out in the open.”

 

“Probably because OSHA complained about the slip hazard,” a still slightly green around the gills Daria replied.

 

Jennifer put her arm around her shoulders and helped her stand up straight. “Felling better now that we're in air conditioning and not in danger of being overcome by a lethal overdose of cheap perfume?”

 

Daria nodded as she breathed in deeply. “I think so. As long as we aren't cruelly subjected to anything too twee.”

 

Andrea shook her head. “Bad news, then.” She pointed towards Mrs. Bennet, who was gushing over a store selling overpriced, tiny plush animals.

 

Daria covered her mouth to hold back another wave of nausea.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Seated in a comfy office chair in an air conditioned office, Daria was finally starting to feel human once more. “So, what's our objective here, again?”

 

Jennifer shrugged. “Depends on who you ask. I'm sure Mrs. Bennet would say something along the lines of 'the power of friendship and economics'. Me? I'd probably say, 'learn as little as possible while skiving off from school legitimately.'”

 

“Great. You just had to shatter the illusion that I was here skipping school,” Andrea said, throwing up her hands in surrender.

 

“Do you often skip school to participate in unpaid market research?” Daria asked.

 

Andrea sat up straight. “Is that what they're trying to do?” She raised her hand and cleared her throat, getting the executive's attention from Jodie, who had just essentially called him middle-aged middle management without actually doing it. “Yo! When are getting paid for this market research?”

 

“Research?” the executive squeaked out.

 

Mrs. Bennet came to his rescue, saying, “Now, Andrea, these busy executives have been nice enough to give their time to help educate us on mall economics.” Turning once more to the man in the suit, she said, “Tell us about flow, would you?”

 

The man breathed out an obvious sigh of relief, and started explaining the phenomenon, as Daria looked to Jennifer and said, “How much you want to bet that's a two-way mirror?”

 

Jennifer gave a feral grin as she looked over to a light switch next to her chair. “You mean, if I were to flip this switch like so-”

 

“Oh, you don't want to do that-” the executive said, but it was already too late. The lights in the room went off, revealing three more business men on the other side of the mirror ogling Brittany, who had just moments before, been preening in front of it. He ran over to the switch and flipped it back on, returning the glass to its mirror status. “The focus group is, um, a very important tool in mall management. We thought that with this live demonstration...” He trailed off as he saw that no one was buying it.

 

Jodie walked up to him, her arms crossed over her chest. “I feel used. I feel abused. I feel that this is not a fun mall after all and the media should be made aware of it.”

 

Breathing another sigh, this time in defeat, the man reached into a pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “All right, little lady. Here's a coupon for a free frozen yogurt.”

 

Jodie looked disgusted at the proffered paper. “Don't insult me.”

 

He reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out another slip of paper. “Make it a ten dollar merchandise coupon?”

 

“Still insulting,” Jennifer said.

 

With a grunt of annoyance, he reached both hands into his pants pockets and pulled out a double fistful of papers. “Okay, a twenty dollar merchandise coupon for everyone in the class.”

 

Daria shook her head sadly. “You don't get it. There's a principle involved.

 

“Yeah,” Andrea said as she walked up to the guy and taking one. “Money talks, but enough of it will buy silence.”

 

Daria rolled her eyes. “So much for idealistic youth,” she said exasperatedly.

 

Jennifer shrugged as she grabbed two and handed one to her friend. “Hey, twenty dollars is twenty dollars.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Looking down at her coupon, Daria smirked. “Well, at least you looked through what was available instead of just grabbing what was handed to you like some people.”

 

Jennifer grinned, then looked over at Kevin and Charles, who were lamenting their picks. “Mama Peterson didn't raise no dummies. _Always_ look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if the one giving it to you has enough oil in his hair to grease an axle. ”

 

Mrs. Bennet gathered her students close for some final instructions before setting them loose in the second or third largest mall in the world. “Daria, you, Andrea and Jennifer, will observe traffic patterns at the food concessions, and Kevin and Brittany, you will study and report back on shrinkage.”

 

The familiar look of confusion crawled over Kevin's face as he asked, “What's shrinkage?”

 

Andrea murmured under her breath just loud enough for Daria and Jennifer to hear, causing them to snicker. “It's what happens to boys when they get into cold water.”

 

“Shrinkage is the retailing term for shoplifting. I'd like you to analyze its economic impact. Does everyone else understand their assignments?” The assembled students mumbled their assent, though it was safe to say that more than half had no idea what they were going to actually do. “Now, we'll meet back here at quarter to three. Remember, area F, section Moss, level three. Got it? F-Moss-Three.”

 

In a rare moment of inspiration, Kevin raised his hand. “I know a good way to remember that.”

 

Surprised, Mrs. Bennet beamed at her dimmest bulb. “You have a mnemonic device, Kevin?”

 

Kevin actually blushed a little. “It's not an S&M thing, Mrs. B. It's just a way to remember that.”

 

Rolling her eyes, the teacher replied, “Let's hear it.”

 

The jock wasted no time showing off his intellectual brilliance. “Fmossthree. Fmossthree! Get it? Fmossthree! Or was it Fmosstwo?”

 

Mrs. Bennet sighed in disappointment, thinking she should have known better. In exasperation, she said, “Everyone, _write it down_.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

The trio stood near the massive food court, watching the sea of humanity feed their collective faces. Honestly, it was enough to make all three feel a bit nauseous if they lingered on it for too long. “I don't know about you two,” Jennifer said, “but I've noticed a pattern.”

 

“People walk in looking hungry, then leave looking satisfied?” Daria ventured.

 

Andrea nodded. “Sounds like a completed assignment to me. Shall we partake in a more hands-on study, or do we want to just move on to the fun part of the mall; spending money?”

 

Jennifer shook her head with a slightly disgusted look on her face. “I was kinda hungry until we started actually watching the herd eat. Now, I just want to go someplace quiet and with as few people as possible.”

 

“Best idea I've heard all day,” Daria replied. “Come on. Let's go someplace where the only people you're likely to encounter are too wrapped up in their own business to bother you.”

 

“The girl's bathroom?” Andrea asked in confusion.

 

A grin spread across Jennifer's face. “I think she means the bookstore.”

 

With a shrug, the goth followed them to Books by the TonTM. The store was well named, having three levels, each over an acre in size, with a bargain bin offering a buy-one-get-two-free special. The three of them split up to go to their preferred sections.

 

Jennifer was honestly surprised at the sheer variety of books in the music section, and picked up a copy of _Songwriting for Dummies_ , and a CD from the music bin, before rejoining her friends.

 

As usual, Andrea was the first to show off her new soon-to-be purchase, by holding up a massive tome. “Got a new copy of  _The Complete Lovecraft Collection_ . Wore out my old one. What about you guys?”

 

Daria showed them the spines of her books. “Been meaning to pick up a new copy of  _Leaves of Grass_ after my dad accidentally set fire to my old one while using it to fix a wobbly table leg; don't ask, and  _The Completely Illustrated Hamlet_ .”

 

“Isn't that the Shakespeare play where almost everyone dies?” Andrea asked, receiving a nod in return. “Nice. What about you, Jenn?” she asked, turning to the blonde.

 

She showed off her choices, the CD causing some confusion for Andrea. “Daft Punk? What's that supposed to be?”

 

Jennifer shrugged, her curtain of hair completely shielding her face as she turned to look at the tower clock in the center of the store. “Just something I've been hearing about from some of the others at the Zon. They say they're pretty good, and they might be going places, so I thought I'd give it a try. Maybe it'll inspire me to write some new songs.”

 

The goth looked dubious, but shrugged it off.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Samantha found Jennifer in her room, headphones on as she perused a book. She flopped down on the bed next to her and yanked the book from her hands to see what she was reading. She smirked at the indignant girl who pouted at her. “Not giving up, I see. Well, I wish you luck. Mom says that dinner's ready, so come down and eat.”

 

The blonde removed the headphones before turning off the CD player, giving her older sister a sample of the electronics music. “What are you listening to?” the elder girl asked.

 

“Have you heard of Daft Punk?”

 

“Daft Punk?” Samantha asked. She put a finger to her chin in thought, her face scrunching up in her thinking expression. “Sounds familiar...” She pounded a fist into her palm as recognition struck. “Wait, wasn't that the deejay duo that Japanese girl was talking about to you at the Zon a couple nights ago while she hit on you?”

 

Jennifer nodded, trying, but failing to hide a blush. “Yeah, this is their first album. Thought I'd give it a try. It's not half bad, actually. A bit too disco and not angry or fast enough for the Harpies, but it's got some interesting sounds, that I'd like to try. Unfortunately, not much to say about it as far as lyrics go; they're pretty simple for the most part.”

 

Samantha pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as she regarded her sister. “So, only a minor victory for inspiration, then?”

 

With another nod, Jennifer turned off the CD player. “Yeah.” They were silent for a moment, broken when she added, “Still, I think that girl was right. They have a good sound, and I'd like to see what their next album sounds like, if they stay together that long.”

 

The elder sister uncurled from her position and stood up again. Patting her on the head, she said, “Come on. Mom made pork chops for dinner, and she said I could have yours if you don't come down.”

 

Jennifer stood and followed after, her mind still troubled. _Maybe I should ask her?_

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

_A/N: Sorry this one took so long to get out. We had to bug out from home to get away from the hurricane. Everything's fine now, but let me tell you; there's nothing like a few days without power to make you realize just how much we depend on technology._

 

_I hope you all aren't too disappointed with the lack of humor in this series (it's not really my forte). Some of you have been asking about Andrea and Shaggy, so I hope this chapter satisfies you for a bit on that front. Shaggy himself may or may not ever make an appearance, and Andrea won't be joining Daria and Jenn as a regular, but you'll likely see more of her here than you did the show._

 


	6. Next Year's Model

_**Burned Out** _

 

**Chapter 6: Next Year's Model**

 

Jennifer laid on her stomach on Daria's bed as she watched TV, her unshod feet dangling above her, moving to no particular rhythm. Sitting on the floor in front of her, Daria leaned against the bed, remote dangling loosely from her hand as she waited to mute the upcoming commercial break.

 

Onscreen, a scantily clad reporter for _Sick, Sad World_ asked, “ An encyclopedia is an unusual product for a supermodel to promote, isn't it?”

 

The vacuous blonde leaned into the microphone as she held up a thick tome emblazoned with the letter L. “But you see, what's different about _moi_ encyclopedia is you only buy zee letters you find attractive, _non_? And it's got big margins to draw your own pictures! How do you call them? Margins, yes?”

 

“Could that accent get any _more_ French?” Jennifer asked. With a sigh, she rolled over onto her back and ran her socked feet along the padded walls, reveling in the novelty of the experience. “You know, I just really can't get over how awesome your room is. Makes me want to ask my mom if we could do mine just like it.”

 

Hitting the mute button on the remote, Daria shrugged as she looked over her shoulder at her lounging friend. “It's got pros and cons. You can't hurt yourself in here, but you can't hurt anybody else in here, either.”

 

Jennifer's mind wandered into naughty territory, which caused her to blush. The blush intensified when she remembered just whose room and bed this was. Pushing off against the wall, she rolled over onto her belly again and let her face get buried in the duvet until the heat faded. Looking up, she saw Daria still looking at her, and blushed again, before trying to derail her train of thought by returning to the original subject. “Still, it would muffle any screams if someone were to say, get stabbed in here.”

 

Daria smiled, and returned her attention to the TV, flipping the channel back and forth between _Sick, Sad World_ and _Headbanger's Ball_ , both of which were still on commercial break. “My mother's threatening to redecorate again. Every time she brings it up, I stumble and grab a handrail. But I think she's catching on.”

 

“You could always stumble somewhere without a guardrail or padded wall; really get the blood flowing,” the blonde suggested.

 

Rolling her eyes, Daria replied, “Thanks, but I like to keep my blood _inside_ as much as possible.”

 

“Visits to the leech farm, notwithstanding?” Jennifer ventured.

 

“Natch,” Daria answered as she unmuted the TV, which had returned from commercial break.

 

Onscreen, a chimpanzee picked parasites from another while the voice over said, “Next, on  _Sick, Sad World_ : the Malibu Primate Diet.”

 

Jennifer made a disgusted face. “Gross-out stories? Must be sweeps week.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Seated in English class, Jennifer doodled in her notebook, only half listening to Mr. O'Neil as he talked about Thoreau's contributions to the literary world.  _How does he manage to turn everything into a discussion on feelings? I swear, if it weren't for the idiotic comments and questions from the stupid half of the class, there would be nothing interesting here._

 

Her musings were interrupted by the arrival of Ms. Li, who said, “Good morning! I hope I'm not disrupting the learning process.”

 

Jennifer muttered under her breath, “Nope. No learning going on in here.”

 

Ms. Li ignored Mr. O'Neil's weak protestations, and forged ahead. “I've got some exciting information for you all. A team of talent scouts from Amazon Models will be here this week as part of their national talent search, and the most promising Lawndale High student will receive a professional modeling contract.”

 

“They got my letter!” Brittany exclaimed with glee.

 

Jodie raised her hand and asked, “Why here?”

 

With a sly shrug and a laugh, which was more like a snort, Ms. Li replied, “I guess they found out what a good looking group you are. But, seriously, this is a great opportunity for you, and the even greater good of  _Lawndale High_ .” The way she said the school's name sent a shiver of dread down Jennifer's spine.

 

Daria raised her hand and said, “Excuse me.”

 

With an inward groan, Ms. Li looked at her. “Yes?”

 

“Isn't modeling about dropping out of school to pursue a career based solely on your youth and your looks, both of which are inevitably declared over by age twenty-five?” she asked.

 

The principal decided to play dumb and ask, “Do you have a point, Ms. Morgendorffer?”

 

Jennifer took up the fight however, and said, “Oh, I think twenty-five is pushing it. I can't think of a model who's still in the game after twenty-three. But who cares about that when you're making enough money that you can afford to buy a new Ferrari every time you run out of gas, and all you have to do is squander your youth worshiping at the altar of superficiality?”

 

Ms. LI rolled her eyes as she tried to downplay their points. “Modeling  _is_ a competitive field, yes, but as you pointed out Ms. Peterson, the financial rewards are great. As principal, I'd be cheating our student body if I didn't allow them every opportunity to fulfill their potential.”

 

“Can we assume the financial rewards are great for the school as well?” Daria asked in an acidic tone.

 

Ms. Li sputtered as she shouted, “That is really none of your business!”

 

Daria gave her an unnerving smile. “But I don't want to miss a lesson in applied economics; I'm trying to fulfill my potential, you see.”

 

Trying to salvage the situation, the principal replied, “The school is receiving a fee for its cooperation, but every cent is going to capital improvements!” In a quieter voice not intended for the class, she added, “We're finally going to get those bulletproof skylights for the swimming pool.”

 

Jennifer still heard her however, and asked, “Bulletproof skylights? Just how many people  _have_ been shot there? Will the swim classes be canceled, or is the rivalry between the schools' swim teams  _that_ intense?”

 

Rather than answer, Ms. Li ran from the room, acting like she hadn't heard the question. “Gotta go, lots to do!”

 

“Well, _that_ was... disturbing,” Jennifer said, blinking her eyes in confusion.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Daria and Jennifer sat in their usual spot in the cafeteria, picking through their so-called lunch, not really hungry, but also not wanting to waste the food. Daria lifted her spoon, letting the sauce from her mystery meat drip back to the tray. “I dunno, Jenn. There's something to be said for being able to afford a new Ferrari instead of just buying a tank of gas, wasteful though it may be. At least you wouldn't have to eat this food substitute.”

 

“Well, there _is_ that whole, 'selling out your morals and ethics' thing to consider,” Jennifer said with a shrug.

 

Daria nodded and dropped her spoon to the tray, where it landed with a wet splat. “That is a bit of a sticky wicket, isn't it? I suppose we could manage by not  _having_ any morals or ethics, but then we'd lose the moral high ground when we call others out on things like that.”

 

Jennifer shrugged again. “That doesn't seem to stop most politicians.”

 

As if on cue, Lawndale High's own political butterfly, Jodie Landon sat down next to Daria with a package of rice cakes and bottled water instead of her usual lunch. “What happened to your lunch?” Daria asked.

 

“I ate during student council,” she replied.

 

Jennifer smirked. “You're not fooling anyone, you know. I bet it was that roving gang of models that prowls the halls of the school, knocking food out of people's hands and lecturing them on the evils of trans fats.”

 

“Wouldn't have happened if she had just stuck to mineral water and parsley,” Daria added with a sage nod.

 

Jodie looked put out as she shot back, “You know, you don't always have to be against everything. If a kid wants to take a modeling class, you can't tell her no.”

 

Daria arched an eyebrow at her in surprise at the vehemence of her rebuttal. “Maybe not, but you don't have to let the fashion mob push the classes on school grounds, either.”

 

“Not exactly fair to all the corporations, to make them wait for job fairs, so they can snatch up all the potential recruits first, is it? I mean, why not just turn Lawndale High into a trade school while you're at it?” Jennifer asked.

 

Jodie had to mentally concede Jennifer's point, but still kept up the argument. “It's completely voluntary, so what's the problem?”

 

“No problem. But why stop at modeling? Maybe there's a go-go bar downtown that would like to come here and recruit lap dancers,” Daria suggested.

 

Knowing she had lost totally, Jodie just shook her head and said in a low voice, “Don't mention that idea to Brittany.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer really tried to keep up with Mrs. Bennet's diagrams, she really did, but when the teacher started copying circuit diagrams, the line had to be drawn, so to speak. She gave up halfway, and resorted to just writing down a shorthand of what she was saying.

 

“The fashion industry may be considered a perfect implementer of marketplace psychology. The business insures its own survival by training consumers to focus on arbitrary styling distinctions, rather than quality and durability.” Her lecture was disturbed by the sound of laughter coming from the classroom door. A woman in a black leotard with a purple overshirt and too many plastic surgeries to be natural, and a man wearing skintight pants and shirt, along with appeared to be a tied on domino mask of all things, stood in the doorway, looking smugly at the teacher. “Huh. You must be the representatives from the Amazon Modeling Agency,” she said.

 

The man put his hand on his hip with well practiced ease and said with a slightly European accent, “Well, I would hope so. We're a little long in the tooth to be attending high school.”

 

The woman walked in as if she owned the place, standing on the other side of her compatriot, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Speak for yourself, grandpapa!” she said in an even more European accent. Both of them broke out into huge gales of laughter which no one else shared.

 

Mrs. Bennet gave a weak laugh as she walked over to them. “I was just telling the class about how the fashion industry uses customer psychology to perpetuate itself in the marketplace,” she explained.

 

The man gave her an appraising look, chin resting on the back of a hand, before saying, “You know, if the hem of that skirt were an inch higher, you'd have a look as up-to-date as tomorrow.”

 

“Do you think so?” the teacher replied.

 

In an act of camp worthy of the worst overactor, the man said, “Show off those gams, girlfriend!” Jennifer was surprised he didn't snap his fingers in a “Z” formation for emphasis.

 

Brittany, who was wearing a trench coat to obviously hide some sort of pink, floor length gown said, “This is the most exciting day of my life! Being a model is all I've ever wanted to be.”

 

A disgruntled Kevin said, “Hey!”

 

The cheerleader gave him a placating look, adding, “I mean besides being the girlfriend of the cutest guy on the team! Oh, and winning the national high school cheerleading championship! Oh yeah, and helping the starving kids in the desert, or wherever.”

 

_Well, that doesn't sound rehearsed at all, does it?_ Jennifer thought to herself.

 

The woman walked over and grabbed her by the chin, turning her head to look at it from different angles. “ Well, let's have a look! Hmm... lovely. What is your name?”

 

“Brittany!” the girl replied chirpily. She clasped her hand on front of her and got a dreamy look as she added, “Is that okay? Because I was thinking of changing it to... Blue.”

 

The man asked, “Can you take off your coat and walk for us?”

 

“Just slip out of that jacket and do a little runaway, Sweetie,” the woman said, pronouncing jacket as “yacket”.

 

Brittany slipped her coat off with practiced ease, revealing a pink, strapless evening gown more appropriate for a prom dance than the economics classroom. She silently walked to the back of the classroom, her nose held high; the very picture of haughtiness and grace. Unseen by most of the class, the man made a gesture in front of his chest, indicating breasts, but the woman shook her head in the negative. The cheerleader reached the back of the room and turned around, returning to stand next to her seat once more.

 

“That was just wonderful! Don't you think so, Claude?” she said, pronouncing Claude as “cloud”.

 

“Wonderful? Astonishing!” He gave Brittany a smile and added in a low voice, “We'll see you in class... _Blue_.”

 

The woman looked around the class again and asked, “Now, who else in this room is a potential  _superstar du fashion_ ?” She spotted Jennifer and excitedly said, “You! You have the look of someone who could get used to fame! Have you ever considered the achingly glamorous life of a model?”

 

With a lopsided smile, Jennifer replied, “Nah. Rock stars usually  _date_ fashion models; why would I want to  _be_ one?”

 

There was a handful of titters from the class, and the woman, asked, “Come now. Haven't you ever heard of a 'triple-threat'? Model/actress/singer is a  _very_ potent combination.”

 

“You mean I could have _three_ avenues to introduce me to hardcore drugs and debauchery?” Jennifer asked. “How... _efficient_. Thanks, but I think I'll just stick with the one highway to hell. Less confusion that way when it comes time to pick my poison.”

 

Daria gave her friend a worried look, and so was taken off guard when Claude looked at her, proclaiming, “Oh, look at you. So waif-like... so pouty. Could you remove your glasses?”

 

Momentarily taken aback, she said the first thing that popped into her mind. “Could you remove your halter top?”

 

A confused Claude said, “Pardon?”

 

Daria regained her wits and shook her head. “I can't take my glasses off. I need them to see scam artists.”

 

The two model scouts looked at each other, concern plain on their faces.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

As they walked home, Jennifer could tell Daria had something important to talk about, but knew that it would be useless to push the issue. She instead allowed her to gather her courage and ask whatever was bothering her. It didn't take long, as they had just left sight of the school when Daria said, “Sooo... drugs, huh?”

 

This confused Jennifer enough to stop her short. “Huh?”

 

Daria stopped and gave her a careful sideways glance, trying to judge her reactions. “In econ, when those vultures turned their attention to you, you talked about using drugs like it was planned or something.”

 

Jennifer rolled her head in understanding. “Ooohhh...  _that_ .” She shook her head as she said, “That was just to get them to leave me alone. The hardest drug I plan on doing is caffeine. I've seen too many careers go down the toilet to want to do anything more. Look at Keith Richards and the Oz-man. Drugs and alcohol turned them into hollow shells of their former selves. I wouldn't be surprised if a few years down the line, one or both of them are doing idiotic 'reality shows' for MTV or something.” She rested a hand on Daria's shoulder and looked her in the eye. “Trust me. I want nothing to do with that. I've even seriously considered dropping out of the band if anyone does anything harder than pot- not offers it to me, but just does it themselves. I don't even want to be associated with it indirectly.”

 

A thrill of relief filled Daria, and her shoulders visibly relaxed as a genuine smile spread across her lips. “You don't know how much of a relief that is to me. You hear all those horror stories, and when someone you care about expresses an interest in going into rock music as a career, and just...”

 

“A knot forms in your belly?” Jennifer ventured. Daria nodded, and she added, “Trust me, you're not the first one I know to be worried about that for me. Mom and Sam are scared to death about it, and talk to me about it at least once a month. Sylvie and the rest of the band are pretty cool, but always hide their pot when I come over. I think they see me as their own little sister, too.”

 

Daria took a moment to take all this in as they resumed their walk. After a moment, she asked, “They do pot?”

 

Jennifer looked at her seriously, saying, “I hope I can trust you with what I'm about to say. Don't tell anyone about this, okay?” She sighed as Daria nodded. “I probably should have secured that promise before that slipped out, but yeah. Monique and Lisa for sure. I mean, couldn't you smell it at her house?”

 

Daria shrugged. “It was pretty faint, but I thought it might be some kind of weird incense or something. They make sage incense, don't they?”

 

Jennifer put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a sideways hug, but quickly let her go. “Daria, for someone as cynical as you are, you sure are innocent. I hope that never changes. No, it wasn't incense; I doubt they even make that scent. As for Sylvie and Sam, I'm almost certain they've tried it, but aren't regular users, and Sam definitely never keeps any in the house; believe me, I'd know.”

 

“You've looked?” Daria asked.

 

“Nah,” Jennifer replied. “Sam and I share just about everything but underwear. I borrow her clothes and CDs and stuff all the time, so I've been through her whole room, just like she's been through all of mine. Why do you think my jacket hangs off me like it does?”

 

Daria tilted her head questioningly. “That's hers?”

 

“Was. She made it my Christmas present last year, because she hadn't worn it for almost the whole year, and it almost never left me.” She hugged herself, almost getting lost in the jacket as a warm smile suffused her face. “It's like she's always hugging me when I wear it.”

 

Daria shook her head in astonishment. “I can't believe the two of you are so close. I know if I found Quinn going through my stuff, I'd do something drastic, like donate all her make up to a Goodwill or something. I certainly wouldn't let her have my jacket as a present.”

 

Jennifer gave a shrug. “Every family is different. The three of us have been super close for as long as I can remember, but we've had an 'us vs. the world' kinda mentality, ever since my dad up and left us when I was five.” She saw Daria about to say something, but headed her off, wagging a finger in her face. “And don't let me catch you trying to give us any sympathy. The three of us do just fine, thank-you-very-much, and pity is neither wanted, nor needed.”

 

Holding her hands up in surrender, Daria replied, “Wouldn't dream of it, Ms. Tough-as-Nails.”

 

“And don't you forget it,” Jennifer said with a grin. They continued in silence for a few minutes until Jennifer said, “Sssooo... 'someone you care about', huh?”

 

Daria shrugged and gave a mysterious smile. “Figure of speech?”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

“So, how did your mom convince you to watch this 'class'? Sounds a bit too much like familial loyalty to be your bag,” Jennifer asked as she and Daria walked to school.

 

Daria gave her a sideways glance with a smirk. “How else, do you think? Bribery, of course.”

 

Jennifer shook her head in amusement. “I have to say, yours is the most mercenary family I've ever heard of.”

 

“It was going to happen anyway, so why not profit a little in the process?” the brunette asked as she opened the doors to the school.

 

“So what did you get out of this one?” Jennifer queried.

 

A satisfied smirk settled on Daria's face as she replied, “A twelve month moratorium on talk about redecorating my room.”

 

Jennifer opened her locker to stow her homework books and pull out the ones she needed for her morning classes. “Gonna try to keep that one going until you graduate?”

 

Daria opened her own and began exchanging her books as well. “I don't know, but it's worth a try. Maybe if I can delay her long enough, I can have her save the padding and the rail in storage until I can get my own place to put them up. It may have been serendipity, but I've grown attached to the décor.”

 

“You and me, both,” Jennifer replied. She thought back to the other day in her friend's room, and the thoughts she had there, but managed to keep the blush from her face. “Want some company?”

 

Tilting her head curiously, Daria asked, “Don't you have band practice after school?”

 

“Nah, it'll be fine to miss an hour or so,” she answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. “We abandoned that new song, so until Monique comes up with some new lyrics, we'll just be retreading old ground, and we know that material like the backs of our- oh hey, look at that! Never noticed that before!” She pretended to look at her hand an notice something new.

 

“Cute,” Daria said with a sardonic smile.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Sitting in the darkened seating area of the school's assembly hall, Daria and Jennifer watched as the two modeling scouts conducted their “class”, trying to inspire them to display certain emotions.

 

“Oh, come on. 'Kitty heaven'?” Jennifer asked.

 

“Tell me about it,” Daria agreed. “At least some of them are bound for 'kitty hell'.”

 

“Hey, kitty hell! That sounds like a great idea for a song!”

 

Daria and Jennifer were surprised to see Samantha plop down next to her sister and put her feet up on the seat in front of her. “Sam, what are you doing here?” Jennifer asked.

 

“When you called and told me why you were going to be late for practice, I just had to come see for myself. Who was the brain trust who decided that suggesting this to Ms. Li was a good idea?” the white-haired woman asked with a snicker.

 

At that moment, Brittany sat down next to Daria, crying up a storm and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Brittany? Are you all right?” the brunette asked while Jennifer made nodding motions towards the cheerleader for her sister.

 

“Do I look like I'm all right? No, I don't, and I don't look like I'm model material either, appearently,” she managed to get out between sobs.

 

Daria looked at her in confusion. “Don't you mean, 'apparently'?”

 

Dabbing at her eyes, she replied, “I mean, I should be up there on stage with the winners instead of out here in the audience with the losers!”

 

“The must be pure torture for you,” Daria said with an eye roll.

 

It was at that moment that Kevin walked in and sat next to Brittany. “Oh, babe, I found you.”

 

Brittany leaned into his chest, crying anew. “Oh, Kevvie, life is so unfair!” she squeaked out.

 

Patting her comfortingly with the hand not holding a football, he asked, “What's wrong, babe?”

 

However, Brittany was unable to say anything even remotely intelligible as she sobbed into her boyfriend's chest. Daria took the initiative and translated for her. “She's upset because she's stuck out here with the losers.”

 

Kevin nodded sagely and continued to comfort his girlfriend. “Oh yeah, I can see that,” he said, causing a fresh wave of wails from her.

 

Romonica, the female “teacher” called out into the audience for boys to come forward to help with the posing. Naturally, Quinn's fan club volunteered and practically rushed the stage, eager to be the one to help Quinn. Seeing that she would still be short one, she asked, “Very good. Anymore?”

 

Claude shielded his eyes from the stage lights' glare and spotted some potential fresh meat. “You, out there. What's your name?” he asked, pointed at Kevin.

 

Ever slow on the uptake, Kevin pointed at himself and replied, “Um... Kevin?”

 

He motioned for him to approach. “Come on up here and help our pretty, little sparrows learn to pose with handsome, young eagles.”

 

“Sure!” the QB said, instantly forgetting all else. He rose so fast, that Brittany didn't get a chance to protest or even move out of the way, and so was unceremoniously dumped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

 

She started crying even harder now, and Jennifer rubbed some more salt in the wound, by saying, “Cheer up, Brittany. He, at least, walks among the winners, now.”

 

Daria rose, and as she left, said, “I need to make a phone call.”

 

Brittany was left to wallow in her misery as Jennifer and Samantha watched what almost amounted to a make out session performed live, onstage. “I have to say, that this is a helluva lot more interesting than the extracurricular classes they had when _I_ went to high school,” Samantha remarked.

 

Jennifer gave a noncommittal grunt, actually looking a little angry. “Something wrong, Sis?” Samantha asked.

 

The younger blonde slouched in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “S'nothing.”

 

Further inquiry was halted as Daria returned to her seat, passing a crying Brittany, who was running from the auditorium. Jennifer was about to ask her what she was doing, but just then, Ms. Li entered from the backstage area.

 

“Carry, on, carry on. I just thought I'd drop in to see how things... what the _hell_ is going on here?” She sputtered in rage at the sight of the half naked boys being caressed by the girls, and walked over to them, separating each pair. “You there! Stop that! You, stop that! Put your shirt back on! I don't want to see that! Put that jersey back on.”

 

“Uh, oh,” Daria said.

 

“Looks like it's kitty heaven for them,” Jennifer added.

 

“Oh, man. I think _Ms. Li_ is going to have kittens!” Samantha said with a huge grin.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Pulling out of the Morgendorffer driveway, fresh from dropping off Daria, Samantha looked over to her little sister and asked, “So, you wanna talk about it?”

 

“Huh? Talk about what?” Jennifer replied.

 

“Whatever was making you so angry back in the auditorium. You looked ready to chew iron and spit nails.”

 

Jennifer slouched down in her seat and looked out the passenger window. “I told you, it's nothing.”

 

“'Nothing' doesn't get you fighting mad,” Samantha remarked. They drove in silence for a moment before she said, “Come on, Sis. Talk to me. I want to help.”

 

“I don't know why I was mad, okay? I just was!” she shouted, turning her fury on her sister. “People just get mad, sometimes, you know! We're allowed!”

 

Needless to say, practice that day was awkward for all, but Jennifer never before sung with so much vigor.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

The next day at school assembly, Ms. Li stood at the podium, looking slightly perturbed. “I know you're all anxious to find out who the winner of the Amazon Modeling Agency contract is, but first, I must say something about what happened here the other day. I don't want you students to think that modeling has to have anything to do with sex.”

 

A good portion of the students there broke out into laughter, causing the principal's face to turn red. “Anyway, as I was saying-”

 

She was interrupted by Brittany, who despite being in the audience and not near a sound amplification device, would be plainly heard. “How could you do that to me? In front of everyone!”

 

Kevin gave a weak shrug and tried to use his “puppy dog eyes” on her, but to no avail. “I was just modeling, Babe!”

 

“Maybe _you_ call it modeling. _I_ call it hormones!” In a huff, she stomped over to the plump girl that was partnered with him during the class, and said, “All right, he's yours now, but _I'll_ always be his first. You can't take that away from me.”

 

A girl with too much makeup and not enough clothing raised her hand and said, “I can.”

 

“Oooo!” Brittany stomped out of the auditorium, leaving behind much of her dignity.

 

Kevin saw the girl and got a sly smirk, winking at her. “Hey! Hey.” She snapped her gum and blew him a kiss as the auditorium doors closed behind Brittany, snapping him out of his lust-filled haze. Realizing what was happening at last, he dashed over to the doors, the auditorium filling with laughter as he went. “Hey!”

 

Ms. Li attempted to retake control of the situation, using the drama to illustrate her point. “See, students? That's what happens when gonads rule the roost! Now, I believe we are ready to announce the winner of the modeling contract. The Amazon Modeling Agency of New York has decided to-”

 

She was again interrupted, this time by a small group of men in military fatigues, one bearing a boombox blaring out a marching cadence. They marched up to the stage, where the lead soldier commandeered the microphone from Ms. Li. “Ms. Li, I presume. Thanks, I'll take it from here.”

 

He gestured to the one with the boombox by drawing a finger across his throat to silence the music. “Students, young people, red-blooded youth of America! I'm General Buck Conroy, publisher of  _ Brutal Mercenary Magazine _ , and I've come to your school today to find out who among you has what it takes to become a soldier for hire in today's exciting world of geopolitical violence!”

 

“What in the name of god?” Ms. Li shouted.

 

General Conroy gave her a placating gesture with his hands. “Now, now, ma'am, a deal's a deal. Sad to say, America no longer engages in the kind of ground wars that made this country great! But that doesn't mean that savage hand-to-hand combat is out of your reach. Mercenary soldiers go where the money is. You not only kill, but get paid well for doing it! Whew! What a racket! In a few days, we'll have a complimentary class right in the auditorium!”

 

“What are you talking about? Who invited you here?”

 

Slightly confused, General Conroy pulled out a letter and a check from his tunic pocket. “Why, you did, ma'am. I have your letter right here, and here's the fee we agreed on.” He saw movement from the corner of his eye, and he turned to spot a camera crew headed their way. He pulled Ms. Li in tight and said with glee, “Oh, look! The media!”

 

The horror on Ms. Li's face was a sight that would warm many students' hearts in the coming years.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

_A/N: Whew! It looks like the differences are already starting to pile up. I estimate about half the dialogue is unique to the story and different from the actual TV script, and that's a good thing from a creative standpoint. Naturally, I could have had all new dialogue, and even situations from the beginning, but that would negate the point of this being a reboot starting with the single decision on where to sit way back in episode one. We'll see where these new changes take us from here._

 


	7. Le Brat

_**Burned Out** _

 

**Chapter 7: Le Brat**

 

As usual, Jennifer was staring out the window instead of paying attention to class, so she was especially taken off guard when Ms. Barch called her name with wicked vehemence. “Yes, Ms. Barch!” she said as she came to attention, knocking her stool backwards.

 

This, of course, caused an undercurrent of laughter in the class, which was quickly shushed when they remembered where they were. Ms. Barch did not look amused as she said, “Can you give me an example of learned repetitive behavior? Sometime before your C average drops to an F will be fine.” The class laughed again, but this time much quieter and for not nearly as long.

 

Jennifer was drawing a blank, despite the thinly-veiled threat. “Oh! Uh, um...” Her eyes cast about until they landed on Angie Chevalier, Co-Captain for the cheer squad, whose book was standing up on its edge, allowing her to use it for cover as she pointed towards her watch. “Er, watches?”

 

Ms. Barch did an excellent imitation of Spock as she arched a carefully penned eyebrow at her. “What about watches?”

 

“They, er...” Sweating bullets now, Jennifer looked to Angie again, to see her look down at her watch several times and make a little running figure gesture with her fingers. “Oh! Um, people will keep looking at their watches to keep from running late, even when they are running late?”

 

“Very good, Jennifer,” Ms. Barch said, allowing Jennifer to breathe a sigh of relief, only to dash it. “You've mastered the art of getting help from your fellow students, when you should have been paying attention in class! I suppose I should be happy that you sought help from one of your fellow female classmates instead of a _male_ , who would no doubt, try to take credit for it, while taking advantage of you.”

 

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and the students got up to leave. As Jennifer bent over to pick up her stool, Ms. Barch said, “Just a moment, Jennifer. I want a word with you _and_ Angie after everyone else leaves.”

 

Both girls gulped audibly, while the rest of the class filed out, most sporting grins. When the door finally closed, Ms. Barch said, “Your grades have been slipping of late; both of you. Do you want to end up shackled to some  _man_ for the rest of your lives, cooking his food, cleaning his house, raising his kids, while your body goes to pot, and  _he's_ out there, living it up?” She was relieved to see both girls shake their heads in the negative. “Then I suggest you two shape up. As it is, neither one of you is going to pass with better than a D- unless you pull off something miraculous. So, I'm giving you a choice: either do an extra credit project- and I mean a  _major_ project, or get used to seeing the borderline failing grade on your report cards this semester. Am I making myself clear?” They nodded, satisfying the beast. She sat down with a sigh and shook her head sadly. “Girls, I'm not doing this to be cruel. I just want you both to have the best choices in life possible, and a decent understanding of the fundamentals of science can do that. Now, go on.” They turned to leave in silence, but were stopped at the door. “And girls? I want a project proposal by the end of the week. We can discuss a time line for turning it in, when we have that.”

 

Both nodded and ran from the room as if it were on fire. They stopped in the hall outside the lunchroom, which was their next period. “I suppose we should meet up after school to discuss this?” Jennifer asked.

 

Angie nodded, her hand held over her chest. “Yeah. I don't want to get on Ms. Barch's bad side any more than I have to. My place today, about four okay with you? I have cheer practice.”

 

Jennifer shook her head. “No, I have band practice about then. Why don't we just meet in the school library after classes, and I'll wait for you there?”

 

The platinum blonde cheerleader considered for a minute before nodding. “All right. Practice ought to be done around three-thirty or so. That'll give us plenty of time to come up with something.”

 

“Cool,” Jennifer said with a nod. “I'll be in the science section, looking up ideas, okay?” The blondes nodded and walked into the lunchroom.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

“So, that was my science period; how was yours?” Jennifer asked with a smile. She was sure that she had the thinner end of the stick, no matter what Daria had to put up with in the class.

 

She had to concede defeat however, with her friend's reply. “Kevin Thompson's been made my lab partner to make a rat maze.”

 

Jennifer sat there for a moment before replying. “Dammit. Do you  _always_ have to top me?”

 

Daria gave a casual shrug. “What can I say? Life hates me.”

 

As if summoned by speaking his name, Kevin sat down beside Daria. “ Hey, Daria. Mind if we do the maze thing at your house? My cable's broken.”

 

Upon hearing this, the brunette got a calculating look on her face, one that almost was a smile. Jennifer could only feel a stab of pity for whoever was going to be on the receiving end of her plan, whatever it may be.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

The library was perhaps the least used building on the entire campus. It even sat alone, separate from the rest of the buildings, as if exiled for being too brainy. Jennifer walked in, having to yank fairly hard on the door to get it open. “No wonder no one uses the library; they can't get in,” she remarked under her breath as she approached the help desk, where a bored looking middle-aged woman sat there, watching a small TV on the circular desk. Clearing her throat, Jennifer said, “Excuse me, I need to find some book on ideas for a science project. Do you have anything like that?”

 

The woman, Ms. Danvers, according to the nameplate, looked up at her in surprise, and came alive. “Oh! A science project, you say? Right this way!”

 

Jennifer was taken aback by her enthusiasm, but followed her to the appropriate section. “Um, Ms. Barch said it would have to be a fairly involved project, so I'm guessing a homemade volcano isn't going to cut it.”

 

“I should say so,” Ms. Danvers replied. “Middle school science fair just won't do. What sort of interest do you have in science? Maybe we can find something there to work with.”

 

Rubbing her arm, Jennifer looked uncomfortably away. “Um, I really don't have one. This is just so I don't flunk out of the class.”

 

Ms. Danvers looked surprised, but continued leading her to the small science section of the library. “Well, what other areas interest you? You'd be surprised the range of subjects where you can apply science.”

 

“Well, I do sing in a band,” Jennifer replied, then hastily added, “but I'm not sure if my lab partner would be as interested.”

 

With a nod, Ms. Danvers said, “In that case, I can let you just peruse the books until your partner shows up. I recommend you begin with this one, this one, and... this one.” She pulled three rather large tomes from the shelves and handed them to the blonde girl. “They cover the basics, and even if you find nothing appropriate in there, they may inspire you.”

 

“Er, thanks,” Jennifer mumbled, struggling under the large books.

 

It looked like the woman almost was going to pat her on the head before thinking better of it and just smiled at her. “No problem. If you have any questions or need more assistance, just let me know; I'll be at the front desk.”

 

Jennifer nodded as the librarian walked away, and took her books to a table to begin looking through them. She was halfway through the second one when Angie sat down across from her, practically plopping down in the chair. “You look exhausted. Was practice that rough?”

 

“New girl growing pains,” Angie replied with a shake of her head. “She's not working out too well, so she might get cut altogether if she doesn't start shaping up. But enough of that, find anything useful?”

 

“A couple of maybes in this one. Try leafing through that one while I finish this one up,” Jennifer said, indicating the last book.

 

They spent several long minutes, silently reading, until Angie said, “Ooo! This one sounds good!” She laid the book on the table and turned it so that Jennifer could read it.

 

“The science of cheating?” Jennifer said, barely believing what she was reading. “Corked bats, huh? Well, I think Ms. Barch _would_ approve of us taking on a 'male-centric war game' like baseball.”

 

“Ooo, I didn't even think of that,” Angie replied. “I was just thinking we could use my little brother to hit the balls, since he's in little league. We'll definitely have to use that when we present the idea to her. What do you think?”

 

Jennifer considered for a moment before shrugging. “Well, it certainly beats out my ideas. Let's do it.”

 

Angie tilted her head at her. “What were your ideas? Maybe they would work better.”

 

Waving her off, Jennifer said, “Nah, they were really stupid ones. Let's do yours.”

 

Angie leaned over and laid a hand on Jennifer's arm. “Don't say that. I'm sure your ideas were good, too.”

 

Jennifer was taken aback by the vehemence of Angie's reply, and looked down at the hand resting on her arm in surprise. “Well, they were a comparative study on using different materials for soundboards in a musical instrument, and using different materials for skateboard wheels, nothing like this. Besides, they would have been pretty expensive, and I know that _I_ don't know anyone who can skateboard to ask.”

 

Leaning back in her chair, Angie replied, “Well, okay. The money might have been a problem. We do have to put up for it ourselves, since it's extra credit, and even a cheap guitar isn't all _that_ cheap, especially since we'd be taking it apart, and need several for comparison. But your ideas _aren't_ stupid, just... expensive.”

 

Jennifer looked at the clock on the wall, and smiled. “Well, why don't we go see Ms. Barch now? I'm pretty sure she's still here, and we won't have to wait until tomorrow for approval or denial.”

 

“Good idea,” Angie said with a grin. She tilted her head to the side as she looked over to her partner. “You know, I think I'm going to like working with you. You're a lot nicer than I thought you'd be.”

 

Jennifer had no idea how to take the compliment, and just gave a noncommittal shrug and half smile.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Dropping her backpack at the door, Jennifer plopped down on the couch next to her sister and heaved a great sigh.

 

“You're late,” Samantha remarked far too casually to be casual.

 

Jennifer leaned over until her head rested on the older girl's arm, and gently grabbed the sleeve of her shirt with one hand, picking at it and letting it go repeatedly. “I'm sorry,” she said in a quiet voice.

 

Samantha shrugged lightly, so as to not disturb her sister too much from their comfortable position. “S'alright. Monique's still working on a new song, so today was just another repetition day. We're not missing anything terribly vital right now. We-”

 

“No,” Jennifer said, interrupting her. “I mean, I'm sorry about the other day. I didn't mean to blow up at you like I did. I'm not even entirely certain what it was all about; I'm still in a jumble over it. I just... I saw them being so casual about rubbing half naked boys' chests, and it just pissed me off for some reason.”

 

A look of dawning realization spread over the white-haired girl's face, and she smiled as she took her little sister's hand in her own, intertwining their fingers. “Well, don't worry about it too much. My feelings are a lot tougher than you think, and can take a heck of a lot more abuse from my favorite sister than that.”

 

“I suppose it's lucky that you're _my_ favorite sister, then,” Jennifer said with a sly smile.

 

“Lucky us,” Samantha agreed. “So why were you late today?”

 

Jennifer rolled her eyes and breathed a disgusted sigh. “Ms. Barch says I'm in danger of failing science, so she assigned me and a classmate an extra credit project.”

 

Samantha gave a sympathetic wince. “Ouch. Well, just make sure it's something that will put men in a bad light, and you'll do fine.”

 

“We found something even better,” the blonde replied. “We're going to make all of baseball look bad by showing how effective cheating is.”

 

“Ooo... I bet she loved that idea,” Samantha replied with a low whistle.

 

Snuggling up closer, Jennifer said, “She literally wiped away a tear of pride when we told her the project's potential effect on a 'man's institution'. I think so long as we don't foul up too badly, this will raise my D to at least a C again, if not higher.”

 

Samantha put her arm around her and pulled her in for a hug. “Still in high school, and already working the system. I'm so proud of you. I presume this means you'll be missing some practices in the near future?”

 

Nodding she replied, “Yes, but not tonight; we're going to start Saturday. Angie already had plans, and we have three weeks to turn it in. We won't need that long, and we're hoping that Ms. Barch will take that into account when she grades us. Anyways, I want to break it to the band tonight over practice.”

 

“Angie, huh? Not Daria?”

 

Jennifer moved to look her in the eye with an expression that told her just how stupid she thought the question was. “Daria? In danger of failing anything other than P.E.? Hardly. Besides,” she added, returning to the comfortable snuggle, “We're not in the same science class.”

 

Samantha gave a grunt of understanding, but smiled mysteriously at her unaware little sister.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

_Chez Chevalier_ was easily as impressive as the Taylor house. An oversized two-story house, most could be forgiven for mistaking it as a mansion. The front entryway had a massive balcony overhanging it, supported by a dozen white columns, and even had an outdoor chandelier for lighting. Needless to say, Jennifer was nervous to be in the exclusive Crewe Neck gated community once more, but doubly so, since she was going it alone this time. Sadly, Daria couldn't return the favor, due to her project with Kevin eating into her copious free time.

 

Ringing the doorbell, Jennifer stood at the front door nervously until it was answered a minute later by a blond boy around twelve years old. He regarded her with an uncannily calculating expression. “Um, hi. Is Angie in?”

 

A sly smile overtook the boy's mouth and his eyes scanned her head to toe. “Sure,” he said, stepping aside to let her in. “She's upstairs in her room; left at the top of the stairs, second door on the left.”

 

Jennifer nodded silently and walked towards the grand staircase which took up much of the vestibule. She looked back, and saw the boy still watching her, that same creepy smile on his face. Wanting to be out of his gaze fast, she ran up the stairs and followed his directions to the indicated door. Even without his guidance, Jennifer would have had no trouble finding the room, as the door was covered in cheerleading stickers, memorabilia, as well as a wooden plaque bearing the name, “ANGIE”. Jennifer knocked, immediately getting a response.

 

“Come in!”

 

She opened the door and was surprised to see that the room's décor did not entirely match the door's. There was the expected queen size four-poster bed, complete with oversized stuffed teddy bear big enough to take up almost half the bed, but the bedclothes were what one would have anticipated from a mature woman, not a teen cheerleader. The furniture was minimal, with a tallboy dresser, vanity, and desk, with only a single bookshelf for accent. Angie stood next to her desk, wearing a tight, red tank top and a denim miniskirt, smiling at her.

 

“I hope my little brother wasn't _too_ much of a pest. I was just getting ready for our study date,” she said, indicating a tray of glasses filled with soda and a plate of clubhouse crackers as well as a notepad. “Take your shoes and jacket off and come on in. Make yourself at home.”

 

Jennifer slipped off her boots and put them next to the door as she walked in and threw her jacket on the bed. “Your family takes off their shoes when they come in, too? I thought mine was the only one to do that outside of Japan.”

 

Angie pulled out one of the two chairs at the desk and held it for her guest. “Yeah, we only wear our shoes when we know we're leaving the house. It helps cut down on the dirt for Rosalia when she vacuums, and it's just more comfortable.”

 

Taking the offered seat, Jennifer looked over the notepad, seeing that she had already been planning the project out. It sent a wave of relief through her, knowing that she wouldn't be carrying this thing alone like Daria likely was with hers. “Been pricing bats?”

 

“Yeah, I figured since you said you were going to come up with a list of materials to stuff in them, I could do this. Speed up the process a little, anyways,” Angie said.

 

“I never would have thought to look in a Goodwill for used sports equipment,” Jennifer said with a nod. “Looks like they'll be our best bet.”

 

Angie sat in the other chair, tucking it under the desk, putting them both extremely close. “Sorry about the tightness here; I hope you don't mind?”

 

Jennifer shrugged. “S'fine, but aren't we leaving to get the bats now?”

 

“No, my little brother, Howie is going to go get them. He's probably gone now.” Angie noticed the look of relief that passed over her guest's face and frowned. “He didn't do anything to you when you came in, did he? He's mostly harmless, but every time Brittany comes over, he creeps her out.”

 

Jennifer looked away, partly ashamed at feeling this way because of a kid, but mostly from the treatment he gave her. “Well, he did watch me as I went up the stairs. It was... unsettling.”

 

The sound of bare feet running from Angie's door, followed by the front door slamming shut caused the cheerleader's frown to deepen. “Gonna have to talk to dad about that. He knows he's not supposed to upset guests like that, let alone eavesdrop.” She shook her head to clear it, and returned her attention back to the notepad, pointing out the next item on the list. “Anyways, I was thinking we can use my dad's workshop in the garage to drill out the bats. He's got a good electric drill and a clamp to hold it steady, and he said we could use them, as long as we're careful.” She moved so that their upper arms and shoulders were touching, and looked at Jennifer. “So, what were you thinking to use for stuffing?”

 

Jennifer thought nothing of the contact, and pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket. “Well, there's cork, of course, but I was also thinking of using Styrofoam, like from a cup, as well as super-bounce balls, sawdust, and water. We could even try filling the hollow with resin and letting it dry. This of course, depends on how many bats we can afford; which reminds me-” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a ten dollar bill. “Here's for the initial costs. I can bring more as needed to split it with you.”

 

Angie pushed the hand offering the money away, shaking her head. “It's all right, Jennifer. I got this covered; or rather, my brother does.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Angie gave a sly smile and said, “I caught him peeping on me as I was doing homework with Brittany the other day. In return for not telling our parents, he agreed to fund our extra credit project for us. Well, that and be our gofer and batter. I'm hoping this will break him of his habit of perving on my friends, but he seems to have a thing for blondes, so I'm not holding my breath.

 

“Well, if you're sure,” Jennifer said, clearly dubious.

 

Angie closed her hand over hers with the money. “I'm sure.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Taking the two slices of pizza from her sister standing behind the counter, Jennifer and Daria nodded at her and took their food to a free table. As they sat down, Jennifer continued from where she left off. “So anyway, it turns out her little brother has been giving Brittany the creepy eye, meaning that Angie has been having to go over to _her_ house when they want to hang out, and _Brittany's_ little brothers aren't much better, perving on Angie, and oh, my god, I sound just like them, don't I?” She put her face in her hands, and moaned.

 

Daria nodded, and finished the bite of pizza in her mouth before answering. “I didn't want to say anything for fear that it was verbally contagious. But now that you've brought it up, yeah, you kinda do.”

 

“Please, let's just talk about your project. I don't want to think what it would lead to if I were to keep talking about this,” Jennifer said as she dragged her hands down her face to plop down on her lap.

 

Happy to oblige, Daria told her about the shenanigans going on at the Morgendorffer household as they ate. Jennifer lifted the pizza slice to her mouth, pausing to say, “You know, if you were _really_ good, you'd have _Kevin_ running the maze, and the mouse helping you run the experiment.”

 

“I don't know,” Daria replied. “At least the mouse has a chance of beating the-”

 

Daria never got a chance to finish her thought, as Kevin chose that moment to approach them and ask, “So, Daria, we still have a lot of work to do on this maze thing, right?”

 

“Yeah, but I don't expect you to maintain your laser-like focus of the past week,” she replied in a tone so dry, it could dehydrate a dam reservoir.

 

As dense as ever, Kevin said, “Cool! Whatever. Hey, maybe I'll stop by the garage tonight, after the Steelers game.”

 

Daria shook her head, trying to dissuade him. “That's not really necessary-”

 

“Oh, wait! I can't. I promised Quinn I'd help her practice her back massage technique,” he interrupted.

 

Jennifer crooked an eyebrow at the excuse, then shook her head. “Well, it's her life, I suppose. If she wants to throw it away chasing after the human equivalent of a sock puppet filled with oatmeal, who am I to say anything?”

 

Kevin looked a little affronted at her. “Hey! Oatmeal is the breakfast of winners!”

 

“Down, boy,” Daria said to him.

 

A few booths over, Joey, Jeffie, and Jamie were sneaking glances at the two girls talking to the QB, and discussing the possible implications of the situation. “Kevin's been hanging out at that Daria chick's, like, every night this week,” Joey said.

 

Jeffie had more to add to the pot. “That's not all. I heard from Nicky that that Burnout chick has been hanging out at Angie's all week, too!”

 

“But that chick's a... what is she again?” Joey asked.

 

“And Daria's a brain. Is that any better?” Jeffie asked back.

 

Jamie, who had been watching both girls, said, “There must be something we don't know.”

 

“We gotta find out,” Joey said as he stood and lead the three of them over to their table, where Brittany was unsuccessfully trying to get her boyfriend away from Daria.

 

Kevin leaned over and whispered out of the side of his mouth loud enough to negate the purpose of a whisper, “Daria! That's a chick movie!”

 

Jennifer leaned over and covered her mouth on one side and whispered equally loudly, “Psst. Kevin. Brittany's a _chick_! They're allowed to like things like that. It's in the cheerleader handbook!”

 

“It is _not_!” Brittany shouted, unaware that Jennifer was trying to help her.

 

Looking up at her, Jennifer asked, “Are you sure? I heard it was somewhere between pyramids and tumbling.”

 

Brittany looked unsure now, but shook her head, and planted her gaze on her beau. Batting her eyelashes at him, she asked, “So, what showing are you taking me to?”

 

Kevin's face took on a decidedly worried look. “Oh, uh. Gotta go. Practice!” he said as he ran from the pizza parlor.

 

Not quite finished, the cheerleader turned to Daria and glared at her. “If you think you're going to take Kevin away from me, you're wrong. Because he's my Kevin, and you're... you're a... a  _brain._ ”

 

Daria gave her a serious look as if reappraising her. “You know, Brittany, that was actually a very astute observation about the likelihood of my dating your boyfriend.”

 

“Don't you have a football player to drag to the movies?” Jennifer asked, causing her to leave in a huff.

 

The three J's finally made their way to the table, and Joey leaned on the table over Daria. “So, Daria, are you doing anything tonight?”

 

Jeffie looked at Jennifer with a sly wink. “Hey, Burnout, you feel like hitting a movie? You chicks dig Whitney Houston, right?”

 

Luckily for him, Quinn walked by before the indignant blonde could reply. “Joey, Jeffie, Jamiel. Which one of you guys wants to walk me home?”

 

As all three of them fought for the honor of walking Quinn home on the way out of the shop, Jennifer caught sight of her sister behind the counter, trying and failing to hide her laughter.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

“Jennifer, could you come check this? Make sure the settings are right?” Angie was currently bent over at the waist, fiddling with the controls of her brother's automatic baseball pitching machine, which was set up in the enormous Chevalier backyard.

 

Looking up from where she was setting up the batter's box, Jennifer saw that her partner's choice of attire, while perhaps comfortable, was arguably not the wisest decision, given how the cutoff denim shorts were riding up, putting her rear end on display. Her own modest shorts and t-shirt were downright dowdy by comparison, and her sole concession to safety, which consisted of tying her hair back into a ponytail amazed her with how much light it let in. “Um, all right.” She walked over and squatted down to look at the controls. “Hmm. How good is your brother at batting? We want consistent pitching, but we also want consistent hits, too.”

 

Angie looked over at her and shrugged. “He _says_ his average this year is three-twenty. For reference, most pro players rarely even _get_ to four hundred.”

 

Jennifer couldn't help it, as her eyes momentarily dipped down to glance at the cleavage on display from Angie's tank top. Blushing, she returned her eyes to the machine controls and adjusted the speed dial down a couple of notches. “Better be safe than sorry, then. Let's see how often he hits with a regular bat so we can find the perfect speed. Go ahead and set up the blanket behind the box, so we can see if we're aimed at his strike zone, will you?” She was still amazed at all the baseball jargon she had been picking up as a result of working on this project.

 

“You got it, partner!” Angie said. She walked over to the pole they had set up over which they would drape the heavy blanket, and again, Jennifer's eyes were drawn to Angie's rear, which had a noticeable sway. She shook her head, and returned to making adjustments to the machine while the cheerleader threw a side of the blanket over the pole and held it in place with a pair of spring clamps. “Okay, all set here,” Angie called out.

 

Rising from her squat, Jennifer replied, “Same here. Call out 'the Champ'.”

 

The sarcasm in Jennifer's tone brought out a snicker from Angie. “Come on out, Howie! And bring your regular bat, too!”

 

It took a minute or so before Angie's younger brother came out, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, as well as a batting helmet. The requested bat was in his hands as he took up his position in front of the blanket. Jennifer was a little disturbed with the way he kept looking at her, but that was nothing compared to the way he looked at his sister. _Okay, this is getting disturbing. That boy is just a bundle of neuroses._ Pushing aside her internal commentary, Jennifer said, “We're gonna test to see if we're set up right, so we'll toss a couple, but don't swing. After those adjustments are made, we'll dial in the speed, and then we can get to the meat of the project, okay?”

 

He nodded and assumed his stance. “I know how this works; don't worry. This isn't my first time in front of one of these, you know.”

 

Jennifer smiled at his indignant tone as she sighted the machine through the reticule from behind. “All right, then. Here we go.”

 

The first two pitches were low, so she adjusted the angle, and nodded at him again. The first three pitches were easily hit, so she said, “Okay, we're moving up to forty-five miles an hour, so get ready.” Again the balls were easily hit, so she kept going up until he started getting fewer hits on average. “Looks like your best range is about sixty-five, so we'll leave it there.” She could see that he had worked up a sweat, so she added, “Take five, and we'll get started on the experimental bats. We want you fresh so we get consistent results.

 

Howie was thankful for the reprieve, as after over thirty pitches, he was starting to feel the burn. He just nodded to her and sat down on the grass, drinking a Gatorade.

 

Jennifer walked over to Angie, noticing that she had a pad of paper already in hand as she stood next to a three foot long pole with two small wheels at the bottom. The cheerleader showed the pole to her, saying, “So, do you wanna work the pitching machine, or the measuring wheel?”

 

It didn't take much thought which she would prefer. Not only was one less work, but also put herself out of line of sight from a certain pervert twelve year-old boy. “Pitching machine, thanks, but I'll write down the measurements. I'll just be babysitting the thing, so I may as well.”

 

“I knew you'd say that,” Angie said with a grin as she went to stand next to the impromptu batter's box.

 

Jennifer clapped her hands loudly, rousing their test subject. “All right, let's do this! Places, everyone!” She took up her position behind the machine and turned it back on, careful to lean away from the wheels which launched the ball, just in case. When everyone was in place, she dropped the ball into the chute, and was almost impressed by the hit, until she remembered just _who_ hit it.

 

As soon as she heard the crack, Angie took off, almost as if she were racing the ball, but quite naturally, got there second. Leaning over to read the meter, she gave them another view that Jennifer was sure would only fuel certain less than familial thoughts in her brother. “Two hundred five feet!” she hollered back.

 

Four more times they repeated the process with the baseline bat, writing down each result. Finally, they were ready for the corked bats, and repeated the process again. However, they ran into a problem as three of their five special bats split before they could get five hits from each. The worst was the bat filled with water, which broke on the first hit, but not before sending the ball the furthest of them all, a whopping two hundred and forty-one feet.

 

Angie ran up to Jennifer, flushed and breathing hard, but still grinning. “A shame about that last bat, huh? He really walloped that one!”

 

Jennifer nodded as she looked over the numbers. “Yeah. I wonder if it would have helped if we had used mercury like I initially wanted. I bet the water weakened the bat, and that's why it broke so easy.”

 

The cheerleader nodded her assent. She looked over at her brother, who was laying on his back in the grass and said, “All right. You know the deal. You clean up this mess while we do our work inside, where there's AC. I hope this has taught you not to peep on me and my guests. That's not cool, Howie.”

 

The exhausted boy just waved his hand at her, giving her a noncommittal grunt. Jennifer picked up the split bats and their spilled contents. “We'll just take these for the report. You can keep the rest if you want, just don't get caught using them, because we'll disavow any knowledge of them.”

 

The girls walked in, breathing a sigh of relief when the cold air hit them. Jennifer's eyes were once more drawn to Angie's cleavage as the cheerleader pulled her shirt away from her chest in an effort to fan herself. “Let's grab some lemonade and head up to my room,” Angie said as she headed over to the refrigerator.

 

Drinks in hand and safely behind a closed bedroom door, they sat at the desk, their chairs, arms, and legs touching side-by-side as they went over the numbers again. “Well, the sample size is pretty small, but it appears there is a difference, however small,” Jennifer remarked.

 

“Especially the water-filled one,” Angie agreed. “A shame it broke after one hit.”

 

Jennifer shook her head. “We'll include the data, but I think with only one try, Ms. Barch is going to tell us to dismiss it as an outlier. A shame, since the numbers from the other hits is at most a boost of only a few feet.”

 

“Yeah,” Angie said in a sad tone. She turned to face Jennifer, an odd look in her eye.

 

Getting nervous under the intense stare, Jennifer squirmed in her seat, suddenly all-too aware of all the skin-to-skin contact she had with the cheerleader. “Um, is something wrong?”

 

Angie smiled at her, as she took hold of the hair put up in a ponytail in the back. “Your hair is such a pretty shade of blonde; really sets off the green in your eyes.”

 

Jennifer's heart started beating as if she were sprinting a marathon, and she wet her lips, suddenly very uncomfortable. “Um, than-”

 

She didn't get any further, as Angie cupped her cheek and leaned forward. Their lips met, and Jennifer could only sit there stunned, while Angie's tongue gently probed her mouth, which was hanging open in shock.

 

Finally, Jennifer's brain checked back in and registered just what was going on. She put her hands on Angie's shoulders, and pushed them apart, until the teen rocker fell backwards, taking her chair with her. Immediately, she was on her feet, looking around in confusion. “What the hell, Angie? I don't- I can't- I'm- I mean... What the hell?” she shouted at her.

 

Angie's hands flew to her mouth, and she immediately looked regretful. “I'm so sorry! I didn't think you and Daria were exclusive! I thought you two were like me and Brittany; just friends with benefits, I swear! I'd never go after someone else's girlfriend! I never even would have sent out the signals I was interested, had I known!”

 

“Angie, I'm not even _gay_! Daria and I are just friends! That's all!”

 

Realization dawned on the cheerleader, and she looked even more horrified. “Omigosh! I thought- I mean everyone just assumed you were- I mean, you're in an all-girl band, and then when you said you were going to be a rock star who dated models instead of being one, and you've never had a boyfriend, and your only friend was Daria, I just-”

 

“Well, I'm not, okay? Hell, I'm not even sure I want anything to do with either sex, right now.” Jennifer gave a exhausted sigh and ran a hand through her hair, undoing the ponytail partway as she paced the room. “I mean, There's nothing wrong with _being_ gay, if that's your thing; whatever floats your boat, right? But I'm not even sure what I want right now.”

 

“Bisexual,” Angie said in a low voice.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I'm bisexual, not gay,” Angie clarified. “I like both boys _and_ girls, though I think I lean more towards girls than boys. We're just... _softer_ , I guess.” She looked Jennifer in the eye and shrugged. “I like that.”

 

Jennifer sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, but jumped again as if electrocuted. Instead, she picked up the chair and sat down in it, facing Angie, but far enough away that they couldn't accidentally touch. “Okay, proper terms aside, what are we going to do about this? I mean, we _do_ have a project to finish.”

 

Angie sat back, crossed her long, toned legs, and looked hard at the obviously spooked girl. Her breathing was erratic, her eyes couldn't seem to settle on any one spot, and her hair was in disarray, some of it poking up like antennae that Angie thought suited her look quite nicely, were it not for her current emotional state. “Well, I think we've established that you're not interested in girls, or at least, not _this_ girl, right?” When Jennifer didn't give an answer, but instead looked down at the floor, she sighed and stood, startling her into looking at her. The cheerleader then went to the corner of the desk and dragged it so that the narrow end was butting up against the wall. She gestured to it. “Well, pull up and let's get back to work. Oh, and I think it goes without saying that what happened just now, never leaves this room, right?”

 

Jennifer nodded and gave a tired sigh as she scooted the chair closer. “Yeah, it goes without saying. Besides, it's no one's business but our own, right?”

 

Giving her a kind, understanding smile, Angie nodded. “Thanks, Jennifer. And... sorry about the confusion. I really did think...” She shook her head and her smile turned a little sad. “It doesn't matter. But just so you know, should you change your mind...”

 

Jennifer blushed hard and scrunched down in her seat. “You'll be on that very short list, Angie.”

 

The cheerleader gave a her a knowing smile. _I bet I know who is at the very top of that list, too._

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

“So, we finished the project two weeks ahead of schedule like we planned, and Ms. Barch was so pleased, especially with the way we worked Angie's little brother to exhaustion, that she gave us both an A+. I'm pretty sure that will raise my overall grade to a C+, maybe even a B-.” Jennifer took a bite of her pizza slice, while Daria finished off her soda.

 

“Sounds like we both had a successful social experiment, partnering up with popular kids,” Daria remarked.

 

Jennifer froze at the word, “experiment”, but hid it well. “Yeah, though mine wasn't nearly as interesting, nor as fraught with intrigue as yours.”

 

Daria shrugged. “It's like I told you; life just hates me more.”

 

The cheerleaders walked by their table, each holding a slice of cheeseless pizza and a cup of diet Ultra cola just then. Most of them ignored the pair, save for Brittany, who turned her nose up at Daria, and Angie, who nodded at Jennifer and smiled. “Hey, partner,” she said as they passed.

 

“Partner,” Jennifer replied, returning the nod, and ignoring the arched eyebrow Daria gave her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say that I wasn't planning on something like this happening until at least second season at the earliest, but my muse got all huffy at the slow pace. Still, all in all, I think it came out pretty well. Angie turned out to be more fun than I thought she would, and before you ask, yes, I do think a relationship between her and Brittany like the one she described here is entirely all too plausible in canon. The two of them seemed like good friends in the show, and with Brittany the way she was (blonde, built, blue, and brain full of Bubblicious), I think it possible they showed their affection a little more physically than most friends. Also, this seems to be a record, both in size of chappies for this story, and in percentage of dialogue from the show. This is getting pretty fun. :)


	8. Much Sitting

_**Burned Out** _

 

**Chapter 8: Much Sitting**

 

One had to admit; despite the heart attack-inducing tone of Mr. DeMartino's voice, especially when lecturing to his students, His history class was certainly one of the more interesting. At the very least, Jennifer found it near impossible to fall asleep, if not for the fear of being awoken by his screams, then for fear of missing something amusing and depressing all at the same time. Case in point: Kevin Thompson and his “answers” to the teacher's questions.

 

“Umm... BYOB?”

 

While not quite the reply Mr. DeMartino was looking for, Jennifer thought it was remarkably relevant to the topic of Jonestown. Had more, or anyone, even, followed that particular bit of social nicety, there would have actually been some survivors.

 

The teacher with the bulging eye however, was not as impressed. “ _Please_. Return to your _stupor,_ Kevin.”

 

Kevin was all to happy to oblige. “Okay!”

 

“While we continue our discussion of _cults,_ can anyone give me another example of a group using coercive techniques such as peer pressure, chanting, and _social isolation_ to achieve control over its members?” He scanned over the class, looking for his next victim, his eyes lighting upon the second dimmest bulb in the box. “Brittany?”

 

The girl in question actually gave it serious thought, but as she had a rather narrow one-track mind, she went to her fallback answer. “Ummm... Cheerleading?”

 

Mr. DeMartino feasted upon the irony as if it contained a full day's worth of nutrition. “Ah, Brittany. Sometimes, despite a _complete_ lack of _insight_ , you _stumble_ upon an interesting answer.”

 

“Wow! And I didn't even have to read the chapter!” she squeaked out.

 

“On the plus side, she'll never have to worry about brain washing. Can't wash what isn't there,” Jennifer mumbled out of the side of her mouth just loud enough for Daria to hear.

 

“No, but she'll have to watch out for ferrets building a nest in her head,” Daria mumbled back.

 

Mr. DeMartino wrapped up the discussion by saying, “Now remember, your term papers are _due_ next Friday, and no excuses will be accepted.”

 

The bell rang, and the students got up to leave for their next class. In the hall, Daria and Jennifer passed Quinn trying to con one of the boys always angling for a date with her into covering for her babysitting job.

 

As they approached, Jennifer remarked, “You know, it never ceases to amaze me just how clueless the boys in this school can be. She's obviously out of his league, yet he keeps trying, hoping to buck the odds and land the school beauty queen when she sees that 'beauty is only skin deep' only applies to guys, like something out of a bad rom-com.”

 

Daria rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. It seems like the vast majority of the population believes they can get the pretty girl or the hot guy when they suddenly realize that looks don't matter nearly as much as personality or compatibility; completely ignoring the hypocrisy. I hope that if I ever achieve that level of self-unawareness, that someone would slap me upside the head.” As they got near, Daria called out to her sister. “Quinn, some guy named Skylar was looking for you this morning.”

 

A look of horror spread across the younger girl's face as she realized the implications. “Oh, _no_! He figured out you're my sister?”

 

Daria rolled her eyes again and shook her head. “Actually, he seemed to think I was your _au pair_. He asked me how I liked America so far,” she replied.

 

“People are so weird,” Quinn said, hoping to play it off.

 

“Some are weird. Some are just astonishingly self-centered and deceitful,” Daria remarked as she and her friend continued on their way to class.

 

Jennifer shook her head at the sisters' display. “You know, I could probably write my paper on your relationship with Quinn and get an A, but that would mean voluntarily spending time around her.”

 

“Don't beat yourself up about it,” Daria said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I wouldn't spend any time with her if I weren't her _au pair_.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

“Whatcha writing; more lyrics?”

 

Jennifer would have looked up to see her sister leaning over her shoulder to read her notebook, but could not since the older girl had rested her head on her shoulder.

 

Reading silently for a moment, Samantha remarked, “Hm. Doesn't really roll of the tongue does it? A bit wordy, too, but you're on the right track with the subject matter. The power of propaganda is sure to rile some people up, but I think Living Color all ready covered this.”

 

The younger Peterson rolled her eyes. “It's a history paper, not a song, as I'm sure you figured out. Why else would I have all these books out?” She gestured towards the history books opened around her on the kitchen table.

 

“Ooo... DeMartino hit his 'cult of personality' lesson?” Samantha actually looked pained as she drew back.

 

Jennifer, freed of the weight on her shoulder, turned in her seat to look at her. “'Ooo...' What?”

 

Samantha sat down next to her, setting down the take out bag from Cluster Burger on the table. “Well, Mr. DeMartino is... how do I put this gently?” She looked at Jennifer's face, noting the sudden concern apparent there. “He views this as one of his 'most important lessons'. There are seven in all, and being able to identify cult-like behavior is an ability he likes to instill in as many students as possible; even going so far as to view it as his responsibility to do so.”

 

“This kinda sounds like cult-like behavior, itself,” Jennifer remarked.

 

“In a way, it is,” Samantha replied with a nod. “Obsession is a trait you often find in cults, and the fact that you recognized that would make him proud.” She heaved a sigh and dug out the burgers and fries for their dinner from the bag. “He may be more tightly wound than a clock spring, but DeMartino is a good teacher, and is trying to do right by his students by preparing them for life after school. Try to remember that in his class.”

 

“You almost sound like you admire him.”

 

Samantha pulled the top bun off the burger to lay some fries on it, before replacing it. “I do. Really, he's one of the few teachers there that give a damn _and_ is competent. Ms. Breger and Ms. DeFoe are too, but they're just 'art department',” she gave the phrase air quotes, “and aren't taken as seriously as 'hard subject' teachers like DeMartino. Don't get me wrong, there are other decent teachers there, and some who genuinely care, but both?” She shook her head as she squirted a couple of ketchup packets onto the remainder of her fries.

 

Jennifer considered this in silence as she unwrapped her own burger and copied her sister's action with the fries. “I suppose I can see where you're coming from. Ms. Barch is too hung up on her ex-husband's betrayal to judge students fairly, even if I  _do_ benefit directly from it, and Mr. O'Neil is so concerned with being PC, he's practically paralyzed into inaction when he isn't trying to get everyone in touch with their feelings instead of teaching English like he's supposed to. As for Mrs. Bennet... well, her teaching style leaves much to be desired.”

 

“She still using football play diagrams to illustrate her points?” Samantha asked.

 

Jennifer nodded and swallowed her bite. “Yeah. Though she does occasionally use circuit diagrams, now.”

 

Samantha shook her head. “Some things only change to get weirder, I guess.” She looked down at the paper which had only been outlined so far, and smiled. “You know, I think you can squeeze a few more points out of Mr. D if you mention how schools often use propaganda, too.”

 

Considering this as she chewed, Jennifer nodded and swallowed. “Good idea. I'm sure I can find an example or two right here in Lawndale High.” The two smiled at each other as they continued their dinner.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

As she sat on the couch, flipping through the channels, Jennifer kept glancing back to the term paper she should have been working on and sighing in resignation. Deadline or no, when you hit a wall, the only thing you could do was to look for a way around, which is explained why she was now searching for inspiration (read: goofing off) by watching copious amounts of mind-numbing dreck otherwise known as prime time television. Her “research” was thankfully interrupted When Samantha plopped down on the couch next to her, pulling her in for a hug. “Have I told you lately that you're the greatest sister in the world?”

 

“What do you want this time, Sam?”

 

The white-haired girl pouted at her little sister. “Can't I just say how much I appreciate you without all this suspicion?”

 

Jennifer shook her head. “Not when you start conversations like that, you don't.”

 

Samantha rolled her eyes, but gave in. “Fine. Sylvie wanted to go see that new animated Anastasia movie that comes out Friday, but doesn't want to go alone.”

 

“So go with her. It wouldn't be the first time she dragged you to see a movie you weren't interested in,” came the reply.

 

Samantha rolled her eyes and her head in exasperation. “Yeah, but that's not the problem. Problem is, she has to babysit her little brother while their parents are out for some sort of late night couples therapy session. Personally, I still think they're swingers, and are just using this as their poor excuse-”

 

“Stop! Say no more, I beg of you. I really don't want to hear your weird, fetish theories concerning Sylvie's parents,” Jennifer begged.

 

“Will you watch him for us? I'll pay you an extra two dollars an hour on top of the six they normally pay,” Samantha begged, taking hold of the younger girl's hand between her own.

 

Jennifer rolled her eyes and groaned. “Fine, but I want popcorn on top of that; good popcorn, not just the leftovers from what you two don't eat.”

 

“Deal.”

 

“And a candy bar. Something good, not that red licorice crap Sylvie likes,” the blonde added.

 

Samantha's shoulders slumped, but she nodded. “Ugh. You drive a hard bargain, you know that? You're like a Mini-Mom.”

 

“Well, one of us has to inherit her business acumen,” Jennifer said with a grin.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

“So that's what I'll be doing this Saturday, how about you?” Jennifer asked as she and Daria trudged through the school's halls between classes.

 

Daria shrugged and stopped as they came to her locker. As she unlocked it, she replied, “Oddly enough, much the same. My sister _accidentally_ double-booked a date on the same night, which gets her out of our parents' 'focus on teens' couples therapy night. In order to stay ahead of the game, I 'volunteered' to take over for that night, thus securing my own freedom from what I'm sure would have been an absolutely mortifying experience, especially so, since I'm fairly certain one is not supposed to bring one's children to _couples_ therapy.”

 

Jennifer looked off in thought as her friend gathered her books. “Hunh. I wonder if this is the same couples therapy thing Sylvie's parents are going to?”

 

Shrugging again, Daria said, “Maybe. In any case, I have no idea _how_ to babysit. I mean, from what I've heard of the Guptys, they're pretty much pollyannas straight out of a newsreel from the fifties, down to the Tupperware parties and Brylcreem. I can't imagine their kids being as poorly behaved as _I_ was back then.”

 

“I take it you were a holy terror that no babysitter would touch with a ten-foot catch pole?”

 

Daria looked a bit uncomfortable as she refused to return Jennifer's gaze. “Well, between a one year-old Quinn constantly crying for attention, and my repeatedly insisting that the babysitter punish her for no reason other than she existed, we _may_ have accidentally given an old woman a heart attack. But no, I wouldn't say I was a _holy_ terror, not when the ordinary variety would suffice.”

 

Jennifer arched an eyebrow in surprise. “And now, you're hoping that karma isn't as instant as a certain Beatles song would have you believe?”

 

“Partly,” Daria replied. “Mostly, I'm just a bit nervous about being responsible for two human beings. That, and agog at the fact that anyone would entrust the safety of their spawn to me.”

 

“Yeah, what _were_ they thinking?”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer rang the doorbell, but didn't have long to wait until it was answered. Sylvie opened it and swept her up in a hug that could have been labeled bone-crushing, had she not had so much natural “padding”.

 

“Thanks again for filling in for me, Jenn. I promise to make Sam buy you that popcorn before we leave,” Sylvie said as she let her drop to her feet again.

 

“Um, no prob, Sylvie,” Jennifer said with a slight blush. She was used to the girl's exuberance, but the ebullience of her hugs always seemed to take her by surprise, not to mention how her height tended to put her face in just the right place to be smothered by her plushest feature. She looked around in the foyer and asked, “So, where is little Robbie?”

 

Sylvie gestured towards the living room, where the television could be heard. “Planted in front of the TV as usual.” She laid a hand on her shoulder and pulled her in close to talk quietly. “Look, I know that it's easy to just let him sit in front of the boob tube until it's time for bed, but I'd really appreciate it if you would play with him so he isn't glued to it all night. Nothing too serious, just some board games or coloring books while you talk with him will do. You can use my synth if you want; I know how much he likes to hear you play. He's... well, he doesn't interact with people much, but I know he likes you, so if you could...”

 

Nodding, Jennifer gently nudged her towards the door. “Don't worry. I think I can keep a ten year-old entertained for one evening. You better go now; Sam is waiting out there for you, and wants to get there in time for the coming attractions.”

 

Sylvie grinned at her. “You're beautiful, Jenn! See you in a few hours!”

 

Jennifer closed the door, shaking her head in amusement. She walked into the living room and smiled as she spotted her charge, watching TV as she had expected. She checked what he was watching, noting that the cartoon in which he was absorbed was almost over, so she stood there until it ended, whereupon she turned off the TV with the remote.

 

The boy turned and seemed to notice her for the first time. “Jenny?”

 

“Didn't your sister tell you I was coming to watch you tonight?” she asked him as she sat down next to him and pulled the boy in for a sideways hug.

 

He nodded as he looked up at her admiringly. “Uh huh, but I thought you wouldn't be here until-” He looked up at the clock, noting the time for the first time. “Oh. Are you going to play for me tonight? It's been a while since I heard you play here.”

 

“Only if you're good and eat all your dinner. I don't want Sylvie, or worse, your mom getting mad at me,” she replied with a smile.

 

The boy looked dejected upon hearing this. “Why did she have to make broccoli tonight?” he groused.

 

Jennifer tousled his hair as she rose to her feet. “Come on. I'll put some cheese on it for you; makes it go down easier.”

 

“I'll believe that when I see it,” was the muttered reply.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

A little over an hour later saw the two of them in the living room, having both been fed and dishes washed. Jennifer was jamming out on Sylvie's keyboard, which she had dragged out from her room. As she played and sang _You Gotta Be_ , Robbie's favorite song (or at least, his favorite song whose lyrics she could remember), he sat on the couch facing her, drawing.

 

She wrapped up the song and was about to go sit down, when Robbie cried out, “No! I'm almost done! Keep playing!” Jennifer arched an eyebrow at him, forcing him to remember his manners. “ _Please_ keep playing?” he amended, hiding behind his sketchbook.

 

With a nod, Jennifer returned to her spot. “All right, but I'm gonna do something else. I'm really in the mood for something... _faster_.” With that, the familiar slowly building strains of _Everlong_ were teased out of the machine. Using the preset buttons, she even managed to get some of the louder bits of drumming to accompany her. By the time she was halfway through, Robbie was caught up in the moment, nodding his head in time to the music, though he wasn't too keen on the Foo Fighters. When the final note was played, Jennifer was sweating a little from excitement, and brushed aside the hair hanging in front of her face, letting it fall back into place. “Whew! That was fun. I hope you're all done, because _I_ certainly am!”

 

Her charge didn't protest this time, too intent on his work. He did finally take notice of her when she flopped down on the couch next to him, and he showed her the first drawing he had finished, all ready starting on a new one. The first depicted her as a grungy angel sitting in a sunlit field, surrounded by cute, fuzzy animals. The second, which was still only half finished, was much harsher. She was still drawn with wings, but this time, more like a valkyrie in armor, sword in one hand, shield in the other. She was slashing at something out of frame, blood flying everywhere, and the style was a complete opposite to the previous drawing. Where the first was all softness and curves, the second was harsh lines, and jagged edges.

 

“Wow! These are great, Robbie!” Jennifer exclaimed. She saw the blush come to his face, but chose to ignore it, rather than tease him about it.

 

Robbie ripped out the second picture and stuffed it in the babysitter's hand before jumping out of his seat. “Youcanhavethisone.I'mgonnagobrushmyteeth,now!” he cried out as he dashed to the bathroom.

 

It took Jennifer a moment to process what he just said, smiling as she did. She looked down at the picture again, her smile widening to a grin. “That boy has talent. Can't wait to show this to Daria.”

 

The rest of the night was fairly quiet. With Robbie in bed, Jennifer was able to work some more on her term paper, actually feeling inspired for the first time in days. She was just putting the finishing touches on it when Sylvie and Samantha walked in, the latter supporting the former, who seemed ready to pass out on the spot.

 

“Sad movie, I take it?” Jennifer said as she put her work away.

 

Samantha shook her head in confused amusement. “Sad enough for her to want to hit a bar on the way home. I would have said no if she weren't such a lightweight.”

 

Jennifer helped her sister drag her to the girl's bedroom, which was an eclectic mix of cutesy girly, and alterna-punk. “Two beers?” she asked, knowing her usual tolerance.

 

“Half a Long Island Iced Tea,” Samantha corrected.

 

With a short bark of laughter, Jennifer laid a blanket over the slumbering girl. “Being a drunk this cheap is going to make some guy very happy.”

 

Samantha just gave a noncommittal grunt, and shook her head with a wry smile as she followed her sister out. They were greeted by the sound of the front door opening again as Sylvie's parents came in.

 

“Evening, Mrs. Davis, Mr. Davis,” Jennifer said. “Session over all ready?”

 

They nodded, and Mr. Davis replied, “Yeah, we had to call it early. Apparently, Jake had a major breakthrough about his father, and was inconsolable. We decided to head out; give him some time to cope before his kids get home.”

 

She nodded and picked up her backpack with her untouched homework. “I guess we'll head out too, then.”

 

Mrs. Davis handed her a twenty dollar bill, closing her hand over it. “Here you go, Dear. The amount for a full night, plus a little more, for agreeing on such short notice.”

 

“You didn't have-” Further protestations were silenced as she and Samantha were gently, but firmly pushed out the front door. “Thank you!” she called out to a closing door, and the two smiling faces behind it.

 

Samantha lead her over to her Charger. “Hey, wanna see if Daria's done with her babysitting job, yet?”

 

“Do you know where the Guptys live?” Jennifer asked as she sat down and picked up the full tub of popcorn, munching on it.

 

“Nope,” she replied with a wide smile. “But it couldn't hurt to try, right?”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

“So we drove around for almost an hour, looking for it, but nada. So, how was _your_ babysitting job?” Jennifer asked as she strummed an acoustic guitar on Daria's bed.

 

Daria pushed away from her computer where she was typing. “So-so. Once we came to an understanding about boundaries on what questions were acceptable to ask, we got along like a burning house.”

 

“Not literally, I hope?”

 

Daria shook her head. “Nah. Fire is bad for business. Really though, they're not bad kids, just...”

 

“Annoying?”

 

“Naïve,” she corrected. “Disturbingly naïve, even. They were so well trained to obey adults, and believe everything they are told by people in places of authority, that one of them had a breakdown when I asked them what they would do if two adults told them completely different things. It was more than a little disturbing, really. Still, I managed to make a silk purse out of this particular sow's ear.”

 

Jennifer looked up from her lazy strumming, a concerned look on her face as she asked, “How did you manage that?”

 

Daria grinned at her trepidation. “I turned the job into a deprogramming session, and wrote my term paper around it. Or at least, I will, once I'm done compiling my notes into a coherent narrative.” She turned back to her computer and started typing once more. “So, what about you? Finish your term paper yet?”

 

“Almost done,” she replied as she returned to her strumming. “I just need to run it by someone first to pick out any mistakes and polish it up a bit.”

 

“Was that a not-so-subtle request for help?” Daria asked, not turning around.

 

Jennifer peeked up at her from behind her curtain of hair as she broached the subject. “You do mine, I do yours?”

 

That finally got Daria to stop typing, but she still didn't turn to face her friend. “ _Quid pro quo_? Sounds good to me. I was hoping to get the opinion of someone I respect, but wouldn't be disturbed by the subject matter. So glad you volunteered.”

 

Jennifer grinned as she pulled her term paper out of her guitar case. “Hey, what are friends for?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry this one took so long to get out. My muse was intrigued by another idea, but I'm one of those people who if they don't finish their first project before starting another, it's unlikely to ever get finished, so my Kim Possible fic will just have to wait. Given how many episodes I have yet to get through, this could be a while.


	9. Chapter 9: To, Cute

_**Burned Out** _

 

**Chapter 9: To, Cute**

 

Sitting on her bed as she looked down at the lyrics she had written in her notebook, Jennifer snorted in disgust.  _ It's all just crap! _ She thought to herself as she paged through the assorted works.  _ Pablum. _ She flipped another page.  _ Trite. _ Another page turned.  _ C _ _liché._ Another page turned. “Garbage!” Frustrated, she threw the notebook across her bedroom, nearly tearing her Iron Maiden poster when it struck.

 

A knock on the open door caught her attention as Samantha peeked in. “Hey, you going to school today, or are you just going to trash your room?”

 

Jennifer pulled her legs up close and hugged them to her body. “If there's a choice, then I'll take the second one, thanks.” She all but buried her face in her knees as she tried to hide herself away from the all existence. “ _Really_ not up to facing the world, today.”

 

Her sister walked over and sat next to her on the bed, but didn't move to touch her. She stared up at the ceiling as she said, “Yeah, we all have days like that. I think that's why adults are allowed to drink, since we can't always just take a day for ourselves; not like you can.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Jennifer, still wrapped up around herself, leaned against her sister, who smiled a little. “Still frustrated about the lyrics?”

 

“Have you ever had a problem that you knew you could solve, but doing what was needed to solve it would mean possibly embarrassing yourself, and maybe making someone you respect think that you're a complete and total loser?”

 

Samantha looked down at her sister, or rather, the top of her sister's head quizzically. “Is  _that_ what all this fit pitching is about? You're worried that Daria will laugh at your attempts at lyric writing?”

 

If possible, Jennifer burrowed herself into her knees even deeper. “You don't get it, Sam. She's a  _brilliant_ writer. Even her first drafts are a thousand times better than anything I've ever done. Plus, she's my only real friend. I'm not sure I could handle her looking at me with pity in her eyes, even unintentional.”

 

“You know, it's a good thing she isn't here to hear you insult her like this,” Samantha replied. Jennifer looked up at her in confusion, so she added, “Do you really think she would be that poor of a friend, that she would look down at you; even over this? From what I've seen of her, Daria is the type that treasures her friends, and while she might be brutally honest, you also won't get anything resembling pity from her, not over _this_.”

 

Jennifer silently considered her sister's words before saying with a sigh, “I suppose you're right.”

 

“So, how good is her poetry?” Samantha asked. “I mean, I heard her short story when she read at the coffee house, but do you think that will translate well to lyrics?”

 

Still leaning against her sister, Jennifer smiled. “That's the thing. Half the poems I've read of hers sound like they were ripped right out of our songs. A lot of what she writes is the same subject matter that we play, and most of them would go well with our musical style. Heck, we could even use the others as an excuse to branch out into other, different styles. There's this one she wrote called, 'No Hope, No Life, No Future', that would almost read like a Soundgarden song with the right music.”

 

Samantha rubbed her chin in thought. “Hmm... I _did_ like Black Hole Sun... Tell you what. _If_ you manage to convince her to write the lyrics to a song, and _if_ I like it, we'll take it to rest of the band and see what they think. If it's half as good as her short story, we may have a new songwriter for the group.”

 

“Thanks, Sam,” Jennifer said, snuggling into her sister. _Now I just have to get up the courage to ask her._

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

“So Quinn said something like, 'Dating, shopping, perky hair' with school pulling in a distant fourth place, but of course, Mom being the overachiever, at least in front of people outside of the family, asked her if she didn't want to re-prioritize that order, but the time management consultant shot her down as being honest, which immediately made her reorder her own priorities, so that quote, 'getting the spice back in her marriage' unquote, was first.”

 

Jennifer shuddered as they walked into the school for morning classes. “I know that parents had a sex life, otherwise they wouldn't _be_ parents-”

 

“Kinda the defining factor,” Daria interrupted.

 

“But why does your mother insist on talking about hers in front of her kids?” Jennifer continued as if Daria's comment was part of her sentence. “I mean, I know my mom had to have sex at least twice; once for Sam, and once for me, but at least she hides it away from us shamefully.”

 

“Like any normal parent would,” Daria added. “I think we've well established that my parents aren't exactly normal, especially when compared to your mother, Jenn.”

 

Jennifer gave her a sideways smile. “No wonder you'd rather hang out at my place than have me come over to yours. If I were you, I'd be eternally worried if this was the time my mom just started talking about sex in front of you.”

 

Daria nodded back. “A valid concern. Knowing her, she'd probably use one of my stories as an opening to find out if _you_ were active or not. Well, that and the fact that the fashion police like to use our living room to plan their eventual takeover of the world.”

 

Jennifer almost grinned at the opening in the conversation. “Speaking of stories-”

 

“Hello? Quinn's... cousin, or something?” Sandi's nasally tone carried well over the general hubbub of the chatter in the hall, cutting right into Jennifer's attempt to broach the subject. Turning to the source, they saw the fashionista in question waving them over, while a desperate Quinn was trying to wave them off.

 

Daria got a sadistic smirk, as she started walking over. “You'll have to excuse me. My sister wants me to stay away.”

 

Upset as she was at the interruption, especially since it likely meant that she wouldn't be able to work up the courage again the rest if the day, Jennifer could hardly blame her, given how poorly she had personally seen Quinn treat her older sister. Besides, Daria was a master at burning someone, while leaving them wondering whether or not they had been insulted.

 

She watched as Daria walked over and exchanged a few words with the gathered girls that she couldn't quite make out, even going so far as to lean close to examine the face of one of the girls' face. Then she said something that had all the girls there glaring daggers at her as she walked away nonchalantly.

 

As they walked to their lockers, Jennifer said, “You know, someday, you're going to have to teach me how you manage to alienate half the school with just a single sentence.”

 

Daria twirled a lock of hair around a finger, and in a voice eerily reminiscent of Brittany's, said, “I don't know if that's something you can teach.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

“Conjugate the verb, 'to go'...”

 

Angie looked at Jennifer, unconcerned as the rest of the class was deep in their own self-study groups' work, her brow scrunched up in thought. “Ire, eo, is, it, imus, itis, eunt!”

 

“So eunt is...”

 

Again, Angie's brow creased in thought. “Third person plural... present indicative? 'They go'?”

 

Jennifer nodded, but not quite ready to let it go. “But 'Romans go home” is an order, so you must use the...”

 

Angie thought for a moment in silence before adding, “The... imperative?”

 

Smiling, Jennifer asked, “Which is...”

 

“I!”

 

Jennifer smiled, but shook her head. “How many Romans?”

 

“Plural! Ite! Ite!” Angie replied, hopping around in her seat, clapping.

 

Jennifer erased “eunt” from the paper in front of her, replacing it with “ite”. “I... te... Domus? Nominative? But 'go home' is a motion towards, isn't it, Ange?”

 

“Dative!” Angie quickly replied, but quailed at Jennifer's smile suddenly disappearing to be replaced with a frown. “No, not dative! Not dative. The... accusative? The accusative! Domum! Ad domum!”

 

Again, Jennifer's smile returned, and she asked, “Except that domus takes the...”

 

“The locative?”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Domum!

 

Jennifer grinned as she erased 'domus' from the paper and added the correct word. “Dom... um... Now then, got it?”

 

The cheerleader smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Jenn. Latin still gives me no end of trouble.”

 

“I thought you spoke French?” Jennifer looked at her quizzically. “Isn't it descended from Latin?”

 

“That's like asking an English speaker why German gives them trouble,” Angie replied with a roll of her eyes.

 

Just then, Principal Li's voice erupted from the PA system. “Would Daria Morgendorffer please report to the Principal's office? Your sister-”

 

“Cousin!” Quinn's voice quickly interrupted.

 

Ms. Li's annoyed voice came back, saying, “- _Cousin_ needs you.”

 

“What do you suppose that was all about?” Angie asked.

 

Jennifer noticed how everyone in the class had perked up at the announcement, some of them giggling. “No doubt, her _cousin_ had some real emergency, like a chip in her nail polish, and needed Daria to go home and fetch a fresh bottle.”

 

Angie took note of the venom in her voice and shook her head sadly. “I don't know why she insists on continuing the façade. Everyone in school already knows their real relationship; they're just humoring Quinn in the hopes of getting in her good graces.”

 

“Or her pants,” Jennifer added.

 

“Or that.” They sat in silence for a moment before Angie said, “You seem to have a real problem with her.”

 

“I just don't understand how she can treat a cool older sister like Daria that way. Heck, even if they weren't related, I don't get why she would do that.” Jennifer started scribbling on the paper, drawing a stick figure with bouncy hair being attacked by stick figure dogs. “I mean, I _have_ a cool older sister, so I know what I'm talking about, when I say this. Someday, she's going to regret all this, especially if Daria ever decides to cut all ties with her.” She finished off the doodle with a badly drawn airplane shooting the first stick figure, which somehow caught it on stick-figure fire.

 

Angie felt bad about the way she treated her little brother for all of half a second, until she remembered how he acted around her and her friends, not to mention what he did to her Barbie dolls when he was four. Shaking her head, she said, “Yeah, not a lot of people can see how cool Daria really is, especially when Quinn is ostracizing her by proxy through her friends. Good thing she's got someone like you, huh?”

 

Jennifer shrugged and physically pulled into herself like a hiding turtle. “I dunno about that. Most I can do is stand by and listen to her complain, and believe me, there's plenty to complain about, and I'm not just talking about her sister.”

 

The cheerleader patted her hand sympathetically. “Sometimes, that's all that's needed.”

 

Jennifer gave her a shy smile from behind her curtain of hair.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

That evening found Jennifer perusing a few library books on Greek mythology in her room, hoping to find some inspiration for a song, when the phone rang. It was picked up on the fourth ring downstairs, allowing her to return to her research for all of half a minute, when her mother called up, “Jenn! Daria's on the phone for you!”

 

The blonde was on the phone on her desk in a flash. Covering the receiver, she called down, “I got it!” She waited until she heard her mother hang up before speaking into the phone. “Hey, Daria. You calling to tell me more stories of sibling abuse?”

 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Daria replied. She gave a small sigh, but a modicum of humor still crept into her voice as she told her about the “family emergency” Quinn claimed earlier that day. “Apparently, Quinn heard about a sawbones operating out of the mall where all the popular kids get bits of plastic shoved into their popular faces in order to make them even more popular.”

 

“Now I'm imagining a civil war era surgical tent in a field, where a model gets some emergency liposuction before returning to fighting for the catwalk,” Jennifer said with a grin.

 

Daria smiled as she laid down on her bed to stare at the ceiling. “Now  _there's_ some interesting imagery for a story. Unfortunately, the actual thing wasn't nearly that engaging, though I imagine the sanitary conditions of a mall operating theater would be on a similar level. No, this butcher convinced Quinn that she could be even cuter than she already is, and all it would take is just six thousand dollars.”

 

“Six thousand?” Jennifer exclaimed. “I'd say go for it. That's pretty cheap for a personality transplant.”

 

Daria almost hesitated, but decided to go forth with the rest of the exchange. “That's not even the best part. She then went on to tell me that for  _twenty_ thousand, she could fix  _me_ , which means making me look like Quinn.”

 

Jennifer almost gave a short bark of laughter, but her smile was still evident in her tone. “Why in the name of Nietzsche would you want to look like  _that_ troll? She needs six grand worth of plastic bits shoved in her face!”

 

“And then, to top it all off, she sent me home with a pair of fake boobs. Says they'll change my attitude.”

 

“Wow. Going for the hard sell, huh?” Jennifer knew that Daria was secure in her looks, but she could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

 

The sarcasm was back in force, however as Daria replied, “I know. If I didn't have such low self-esteem, she might have gotten to me.”

 

“I think she's underestimating the depths of your misanthropy. Not even three fake boobs could change this attitude.”

 

“No, but a third boob _would_ help me get a job as a prostitute on Mars,” was Daria's sarcastic reply.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer shook her head in amazement. “Your mom seriously got upset at that? She couldn't tell it was a joke? Wasn't it her fault for eavesdropping and only hearing part of a conversation?”

 

Daria shrugged as she pulled a small wooden box from her locker and tucked it under her arm. “She's got this weird notion that it's her job as my mother to eavesdrop on any and all conversations I might have. I'm just lucky I was able to convince her we were talking about a movie, so I didn't have to explain that Quinn had convinced the principal that she needed me to escort her for a family emergency, and that I never bothered to tell _her_ about it. I don't mind dropping Quinn into the shark tank when I can't blackmail her, but this time would have implicated myself as well.”

 

“Don't feel like cutting off your nose to spite your face, eh?”

 

“My nose has done me no wrong. Other than the occasional cold, that is,” Daria replied.

 

Just then, Kevin limped by, looking like Quasimodo's younger, uglier brother. Jennifer stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment. “Wow, Ms. Barch really went the extra mile this year.”

 

Kevin mumbled something in reply, but the only intelligible word was, “Okay.”

 

“What?” Daria asked, trying to avoid any spray.

 

Removing a wad of cotton as big as his fist, Kevin tried to replenish the moisture in his mouth. “Daria! Man, I need your advice. You're used to being unpopular.” It didn't even seem to occur to him that what he just said was insulting.

 

“Thanks,” Daria said with a roll of her eyes.

 

The QB straightened up as much as he could with the brace he was wearing forcing him into a stooped posture, relishing in the feel of his vertebrae popping back into proper alignment. “It's really bumming me out that people hate the way I look!”

 

Daria gave it all of half a second's thought before replying, “Well, a respectable member of the medical community once told me that money can make anyone look beautiful.”

 

Kevin's ubiquitous smile returned. “Hey, thanks Daria,” he said, replacing the cotton in his mouth.

 

Jennifer watched him leave, shaking her head. “What do you suppose he's going to do with his newfound wisdom?”

 

For her own part, Daria just couldn't muster up the wherewithal to care. “What's the difference? He's gone.”

 

“Fair enough.” She gestured towards the box and asked, “So, is that them? What are you planning to do with them?”

 

Daria shrugged. “Not sure. Even out a wobbly table leg, maybe make some boy very happy? The possibilities are limitless.”

 

This seemed to be a day for interruptions, as Charles approached them. “Good day, ladies! What's in the box? Art project? Science experiment? Adorable little pet? Arf!”

 

“Maybe you could tell us, Charles,” Jennifer said as she opened the box, revealing two orange-sized plastic sacs filled with what appeared to be some sort of gelatin.

 

Charles picked one up, hefting it with one hand curiously. “Hm. Call me country bumpkin, but... what is it?”

 

Jennifer put an arm around his shoulder and said in a low voice, “Tell me, Charles. What is the first part of a girl boys want to touch?”

 

It took a moment, but dawning horror crept upon the boy's face, and he dropped the implant back into the box as if it were a dead plague rat, and ran off holding his hand out like it was contaminated.

 

Jennifer watched him run off and shook her head as she closed the box. “Guess we can cross making some boy very happy off the list.”

 

Once more, their conversation was interrupted as Quinn walked up to Daria. “Daria! Daria, I need to-” She finally noticed Jennifer and made shooing motions with her hands. “Shoo! Shoo! I need to borrow six thousand dollars.”

 

Annoyed at how she was treating her only friend, Daria furrowed her eyebrows at her sister. “I don't _have_ six thousand dollars.”

 

“It's an emergency!” Quinn pleaded.

 

“Have you checked under the couch cushions? That's usually where I find loose thousand dollar bills,” Jennifer said, but was ignored by the younger Morgendorffer.

 

Quinn paused for a moment as if she were thinking, which fooled no one. “Here's what you do. Tell Mom and Dad that Dr. Shar says you need human growth hormone. They'll believe that.”

 

“It's so plausible; who wouldn't?” Jennifer interjected.

 

“But instead, Dr. Shar will do me, and charge them for you, and you'll probably grow anyway,” Quinn concluded excitedly.

 

Already, Daria was poking holes in the plan. “Good plan, but what makes you think Dr. Shar's gonna go for this?”

 

Quinn wasted no time abandoning her earlier act and replied, “It was her idea!”

 

Daria shook her head. “I can't have this on my conscience.”

 

Quinn fixed her with a disbelieving look. “You don't _have_ a conscience.”

 

“What I meant was, I don't _feel_ like it.”

 

Quinn stomped her foot, looking like a kitten trying to be fierce. “You've got to! Where else am I gonna get six thousand dollars?”

 

“Amway?” Jennifer suggested. Quinn actually seemed to consider this before walking away with a smirk.

 

Daria threw Jennifer a glare. “You're paying for my therapy.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer carefully plucked out Bolero on the guitar, while Andrea sat next to her, going over her most recent experience in the girls' bathroom, her own guitar forgotten in her lap. “So she tries to pull some bull crap feminist logic that she just heard somewhere about solidarity. I doubt she even knows what the word means, let alone the implications of using it.”

 

“Solidarity? Really?” Jennifer asked incredulously.

 

Andrea threw up her arms in exasperation. “Exactly! I mean, I'm not exactly the most ardent supporter of the cause, but even _I_ know you don't go around spouting things like that to people who _might_ take it to mean that you're on their side, especially if they later find out or already know that you _aren't_. Remember last year, that girl who pretended to be a feminist, trying to get a better grade out of Ms. Barch?”

 

“The one who ran crying from the school and transferred a couple days later?”

 

“Right. Can you imagine if Quinn had used that line on _Ms. Barch_?” Andrea shuddered. “Not only would we be picking up pieces of her for days, but I doubt the rest of the school year would be all that pleasant for the survivors.” She shook her head and remembered that this was guitar class, so she tried to look busy with some random fingering. “So anyway, Quinn then gave me this lame line about sisterhood being powerful, so I asked her if she was even a _little_ afraid that there might be a Hell.” She shrugged as she added, “I just hope she figures out who to manipulate with that line, and who not to ever mention sisterhood to.”

 

Jennifer shrugged as well. “It's her problem, I guess. Just have to hope that it doesn't come back to bite anyone else in the butt. Well, no one _undeserving_ , anyway. So, what did she say then?”

 

Andrea chuckled and looked down at her fretboard, trying to get her fingering right for an actual chord. “She didn't. She just kinda glared at me and walked out in a huff. I tell you, with the way she pushes her looks, she'll either make some lucky boy a great trophy wife, or be asking people if they want fries with that when she turns thirty.”

 

Jennifer guffawed, missing a note, so she returned to the beginning of the measure as she considered Andrea's words. “You know, I'm not so certain. Despite her over-reliance on her looks, Quinn _does_ have Daria for a sister, a lawyer for a mother, and her father owns his own consulting firm. None of those three are dummies, even if they don't always use their brains, or are overspecialized in their areas of expertise. I doubt Quinn is as stupid as she likes to pretend.”

 

“What, you think she's an idiot-savant, or just sandbagging?”

 

“The second one, I think,” Jennifer replied after a moment's thought. “She may not be as brilliant as Daria, but surely _some_ if their parents' intelligence rubbed off on her.”

 

Andrea looked over at Shaggy, who was strumming silently on his own guitar. Both smiled knowingly as they looked back at Jennifer.

 

It took a moment for Jennifer to notice and stopped her own playing. “What?”

 

Andrea's smile became a grin, which was mirrored by Shaggy and she shook her head. “Nothing.”

 

Jennifer eyed them suspiciously before returning to her own guitar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took most of a year to get this one out. Like I said earlier, I'm one of those who can't do multiple projects at once. Unfortunately, I'm trying to do like four stories at once, while juggling RL, so yeah. Sorry again.


	10. The Hoosegow

_**Burned Out** _

 

**Chapter 10: The Hoosegow**

 

Jennifer smiled at Daria so carefully closing the car door, so as to not wake her parents. “See you at school on Monday,” the blonde said with a grin.

 

Daria held up a finger in front of her mouth as she shushed her friend. “Shh! Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow,” she whispered.

 

Shaking her head as she turned back to her sister, Jennifer said, “Try not to backfire. I'd hate to see all her effort at sneaking be for nothing.”

 

“Pfft. Oh, ye of little faith,” Samantha said, blowing a raspberry. “I'll have you know that I had Lisa tune up Mr. Muscles just last month.” The engine purred throatily as she eased away from the house, but failed to make any appreciable noise. Samantha stuck out her tongue at her younger sister and gunned the engine when they had reached the end of the block.

 

“Lisa's still agreeing to that deal? She truly is an exemplar of inertia.”

 

“Hey, it's a good deal for her, too,” Samantha said defensively. “She keeps Mr. Muscles running, in return, she'll never have to chip in for gas, _and_ I'll take her wherever she needs to go so long as I'm not working or chauffeuring family.”

 

Jennifer shrugged. “Well, it's between the two of you, I guess. You all coming to the roller-hockey game this year?”

 

Samantha grinned at her sister. “As if I'd miss it. Monique's going to bow out, though; says she and Trent are going out that night. Hopefully, it won't affect our rehearsal the following night.”

 

“So their schedules finally lined up? Is there a planetary conjunction, as well?”

 

Samantha barked out a hearty laugh. “You'd think with Trent's... less than ideal employment status, he'd be a little more accommodating to Mo, but he insists his band practice more, now that he has free time.”

 

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “I'd call into question the value of their practicing, but glass houses, and all that.”

 

“I'd say good on you for even recognizing the glass house, but you have to admit that the Harpies and Spiral aren't even in the same ballpark,” Samantha replied. She leaned over and stage whispered to her, “But you didn't hear that from me.”

 

Jennifer grinned back. “Yeah, don't want Aello to hear that.”

 

Samantha's grin widened as she drove them home.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

“So instead of saying, 'Don't come home so late,' now they've created some elaborate punishment system,” Daria said as she retrieved her books from her locker.

 

Jennifer arched an eyebrow at her. “Sounds vaguely inquisition-ish. Should I ready a stake for you and Quinn?”

 

Daria shook her head. “More like Family Court, but the end result will be much the same, I imagine.”

 

“Jurisprudence? Yikes.”

 

“Technically, it's due process,” Daria replied. “Jurisprudence is the science or philosophy of law, rather than its actual execution.”

 

Checking to make sure she had the correct book for her next few classes, Jennifer asked, “Do you think they're even going to pretend to be impartial, or will this be a kangaroo court?”

 

Daria closed her locker and spun the combination dial. “Given that these are _my_ parents we're talking about, and it's one of _their_ rules I somehow 'broke' before it even existed, what do _you_ think?”

 

Jennifer smirked. “So, you want to stop by the pet store on the way home and see if they sell marsupial kibble?”

 

They were interrupted as Jodie walked up to them, clipboard in hand like a mall survey-taker. “Hey, you guys wanna buy tickets for the faculty-DJ roller hockey game?”

 

Daria looked at her as if she had just asked if they wanted to steep in a tub of mustard. “Are you kidding?”

 

Jennifer grinned, however. “We'll take five.” She looked at Jodie's her face, unasked question plain. “Two for us, and three for my sister, and band mates.”

 

Daria looked at her friend as if she had just upped the ante to rolling around in month-old dead skunk. “What? You're gonna pay to watch teachers skate around with DJs?  _Classic rock_ DJs?”

 

Jodie shook her head with a smile. “You weren't here last year, Daria. Mr. DeMartino was body checked by 'Rock and Roll Randy', and suffered a heart attack right there on the gym floor. He had to have an emergency angioplasty. He almost died.”

 

Jennifer picked up the thread and clenched her hand into a fist dramatically. “But the DeMartinos are made of sterner stuff. He not only recovered enough for his doctor to okay his playing, but he's been training for this very night. This will be his revenge and redemption all in one. I've heard him muttering about how he's going to take down He-who-spins-the-disks.”

 

With a confused expression, Daria asked, “He-who- What are you saying?”

 

“You know how there are people who go to car races on the chance that they might see a crash?” Jodie asked.

 

Needing no more prompting, Daria pulled out a ten dollar bill. “I'm in.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer walked into her house, dropping her backpack by the coffee table. “I'm home,” she shouted to no one in particular.

 

Her mother poked her head out of the kitchen and smiled at her youngest-born. “Welcome home, Sweetie. How was school?”

 

“Slow news day, Mom?”

 

Kimberly smirked and flicked a dough-covered hand at her, spraying the girl with flecks of dough. “Cute. Just for that, no seconds on the pot pie I'm making for dinner.”

 

The blonde paused as she entered the kitchen and pouted at her mother, her one visible eye getting dewy with tears. “You wouldn't deny your growing daughter a badly needed nutritious meal, would you?”

 

Samantha walked in from the garage, carrying a plastic grocery bag. “I dunno, Mom. Looks like she's done enough growing for the year, to me.”

 

“Nobody pulled your string, Peanut Gallery,” Jennifer said, sticking out her tongue.

 

“Sounds like she doesn't want any cookies for dessert, either,” the white-haired woman said as she pulled out a clear plastic container of chocolate chip cookies from the bakery.

 

Jennifer fell to her knees and latched onto her mother around the waist. “Mo~ooom! Sam's being mean to me!”

 

Samantha flicked the top of her head. “Tattletale.”

 

Kimberly shook her head at their antics. “Keep it up, and there'll be two girls in this house going to bed with no dessert!”

 

“No need to deny yourself, Mom. Your figure's still pretty rockin',” Samantha replied. She looked down at Jennifer and asked, “So, are they selling the tickets, yet? We've already cleared our calendar for that night.”

 

Putting a doughy finger to her chin, Kimberly mused, “I wonder if I should have the chief send a reporter this year. I'd hate to miss something like last year, and have to rely on second-hand accounts.”

 

“Definitely,” both daughters said in unison.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Samantha leaned on the counter as she waited for her slice of pizza, making idle talk with her sister. “So, any chance of a reprieve from the Justice?”

 

Jennifer shook her head. “You know how they say that Tin Pot Dictators are very protective of their authority? Well, imagine if their authority extended only as far as an actual tin pot, but are made to believe that it's an actual country.”

 

Samantha rolled her eyes. “Guess the others are going to be happy-” Her eyes got wide and her already pale complexion went sheet-white as she brought a hand up to cover her mouth.

 

“What's _that_ supposed to mean?” Jennifer asked, her eyes narrowing.

 

“Look,” Samantha pleaded, “They've just been real happy to have you around more this past week. Ever since you met Daria, you've sacrificing some band time to spend with her- not that we blame you! We think it's great that you've expanded your circle of friends, even by one, but you've been spending a lot of your free time with her. The girls all think of you as their own surrogate little sister, and they've noticed how much of your time is split between us and her. We just... _miss_ you,” she finished lamely.

 

Jennifer sighed. “I guess I can see that. Just make sure that they don't look _too_ happy when you tell them. Daria's my friend, after all. I feel bad abandoning her to Mo's living room and crappy stolen cable TV so I can practice in the garage. Even if she _says_ she doesn't mind it, _I_ feel bad about it.”

 

Samantha nodded, and served up the slice of pizza she had ordered. “Message received, Sis.”

 

Picking up her slice, Jennifer walked over to an empty booth and sat down. She was about to bite into it, when she heard Kevin's voice behind her.

 

“Then she said her parents are trying to change her generic makeup or something!”

 

Jennifer shook her head and was again about to bite down when Brittany's helium-like voice cut through the din.

 

“They really should. I hate that generic makeup. It gives me hives!”

 

Not for the first time, Jennifer wondered if Brittany was faking a low IQ so as to not be labeled a brain, or if she really was that dumb. She had to keep a “C” average to remain on the cheerleader squad, after all, and there was only so much she could copy from Angie or the other squad mates.

 

“But it's so freaky, babe, I mean, she's weird enough as it is,” Kevin replied.

 

Jennifer had heard enough. Appetite completely gone, she angrily stood and stalked out of the restaurant, leaving the pizza slice behind. Brittany gasped as she finally noticed her, and smacked Kevin on the arm.

 

“Ow! Hey, what was _that_ for?”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Once again, O'Neill's class had degenerated into a free-for-all he liked to call “Self-Study”. Dodging a paper airplane thrown by that artsy girl in the corner that rarely spoke to anyone, Jennifer said, “Really, Daria? A harmonica? I thought you'd be above such clichés.”

 

The auburn haired girl shook her head, dislodging another paper airplane stuck there. “I think it's extra powerful in this case, though. When my dad was in Buxton Ridge, he said his harmonica was his only real friend.”

 

“Ah. Playing to the audience,” Jennifer said and nodded sagely.

 

“Literally and figuratively, in this case,” Daria replied with a barely visible smirk.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer was surprised when Jodie sat down to enjoy lunch together on the grass outside the cafeteria, but was an expert at hiding her real emotions, at least from those with whom she only casually associated. The mystery ended when the black girl finally got around to what she really wanted.

 

“Kevin's all weirded out. He says her parents have come up with some sick punishment that gives her hives.”

 

Jennifer's normally bland expression soured a little, causing Jodie to rear back a little in surprise. “Kevin can go soak his head, for all I care.” Her expression returned to neutral as she expounded. “As for Daria's punishment, it's not really as horrific as you might think. Mainly, they're just sitting around, getting on each other's nerves. Personally, I doubt they'll make it the whole month. Already, the elder Morgendorffers are showing the strain, and Quinn isn't much better off. I have it on good authority that she's actually considering  _reading_ . For  _fun_ .”

 

Jodie picked at the grass, letting the plucked blades fly free in the wind. “Still...”

 

Rolling her eyes, Jennifer gritted her teeth. She was really hoping to avoid having to do this, but it appeared she had no choice. “Look, if it will stop you from calling CPS on them, I'll take you over and you can see for yourself, okay?”

 

Jodie gave her a shy smile.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

As they left the school grounds, Jodie remarked, “I just don't understand why we couldn't ask Mr. Morgendorffer for a lift while he was here. I mean, we  _are_ going to the same destination, after all.”

 

Jennifer rolled her eyes again.  _How can such a smart girl be so dumb?_ “Three reasons. First of all, she's been put  _on restriction_ . Now, I know you've probably never done anything to warrant such a punishment from your parents, so I'll explain. That means that she isn't allowed to associate with friends or classmates outside of school or approved and supervised study sessions.” She ignored the irked look Jodie gave her and continued on. “Secondly, asking him for a ride would mean having to tell him  _why_ we need one in the first place, defeating the purpose of a surprise visit. Thirdly, this gives them a chance to get into their routine activities, and catch them with their defenses down, when we ring the doorbell.”

 

They continued their walk in silence for a few minutes, until Jodie said, “You're a lot cattier without Daria around.”

 

Jennifer sighed and her shoulders slumped. “Sorry. I've just missed hanging out with my best and only friend; at least in my age group. Add to that all the rumors going around about me and her, and top it off with me overhearing Kevin call Daria 'weird' and 'freaky', and I tend to get a little... bellicose.”

 

Jodie actually appeared contrite. “No,  _I'm_ sorry. I didn't even think how this might be affecting you. While I can't help time go by faster, I  _can_ help with the other two things, at least. I'll talk to Brittany about Kevin, and if I hear any...  _rumors_ about you and Daria, I'll do what I can to squash them, though I honestly have to say that I haven't heard any, myself.”

 

The corners of Jennifer's mouth turned up just a little. “Thanks, Jodie. I'm sure Daria would appreciate it.”

 

“Two things you should know, however,” Jodie replied. “I kinda doubt Kevin was being malicious. That's just how he sees anyone who doesn't worship at the goalpost. Anyone who would rather read than watch a good football game may as well be from another planet to him. I can't even remember how many times he called me 'that weird, brainy black chick' before Mack finally got him to stop. Second, it just so happens that I _have_ in fact, been put on restriction before. Getting a 'B' in geometry might not be so bad for the average student, but in my parent's house, it earned me three weeks of personal tutoring from my uncle, who's a math professor at Brown, not to mention having to work at my mom's firm for a month in lieu of my normal free time activities.”

 

Jennifer grimaced. “Ouch. Indignation withdrawn.”

 

Jodie shrugged. “It's fine. No way you  _could_ have known. I don't exactly advertise it. Anyway, 'bellicose'? If anything, meeting Daria has been good for your vocabulary,” she said with a smile.

 

Jennifer shrugged and blushed. “Yeah, she tends to have that effect.” They finally arrived at Daria's house, and could hear muffled voices from inside. She rang the doorbell and waited for a reply. They could just barely make out Helen saying that Jake could not revoke Daria's restriction just because he was losing, before the door opened. Peering around Daria, they could see Helen and Jake sitting on the floor around the coffee table, where a Monopoly board was set up.

 

Daria blinked at them a moment before Jennifer said, “See? She's fine.”

 

Jodie actually sounded a bit disappointed as she said, “I guess so.”

 

“Although her clothes _could_ be concealing electrode burns,” Jennifer mused.

 

Daria finally asked, “What are you talking about?”

 

Jennifer answered, “Apparently, there have been some rumors going around about your parents torturing you and Quinn.”

 

“It's been Hell in there,” Daria replied. “Monopoly. Scrabble. Pictionary. I didn't even know we _had_ a Pictionary set.”

 

“Any idea when they'll finally break?” Jennifer asked.

 

Daria squared her shoulders and looked grim and determined. “Who cares? _I'm_ done.”

 

Jodie looked shocked as she asked, “You mean...”

 

With a nod, Daria said, “That's right. I'm bustin' out.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer sat at her desk, scribbling out nonsense with one hand while the other held the phone, in the vain hopes that some decent lyrics would resolve themselves from the jumble. So far, it was proving to be as useless as she had thought it would be. “So, what's the plan?”

 

“I made a tape of my harmonica music, I can climb down the lattice in under three minutes, and I know exactly how often the neighborhood security guy drives by.”

 

“So, will you be going for the standard spy outfit, or will you be going full ninja tonight?” Jennifer asked with a smirk. She wrote down, “Ninja Spy” before crossing it out just as quickly.

 

Daria's amusement came through loud and clear as she replied, “Cute.” There was a pause as she said, “Hold on. Got another call.”

 

There was another, lengthier pause before she came back. “Jenn?”

 

“Hanging on your every word,” she said.

 

There was another slight pause. “Ugh. Stupid call waiting. Hang on.”

 

Yet another lengthy pause stalled the conversation until Daria returned again. “Jenn?”

 

“Still here.”

 

“New plan. Come over and pick me up. I'll be at the front door.”

 

Jennifer's smile returned in full force. “Let me guess; they both had to work late tonight.”

 

“I'm more upset at myself for not predicting it, than for it happening at all,” Daria snarked.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Daria and four of the five Harpies walked into the gymnasium, with the game already in progress.

 

“Think anything has happened, yet?” Daria asked as they took their seats.

 

“Nah. The ambulance is still in the parking lot,” Samantha answered.

 

“Plus, there's no blood on the floor,” Lisa added.

 

Jennifer shook her head. “Optimists; the lot of you.”

 

Sylvie pointed towards the floor where the action was, her bountiful assets contained by a T-shirt two sizes too small drawing the eye of many a male (and a few females) in the room. “Look! There he is!”

 

Mr. DeMartino was in the middle of a scrimmage for the puck with almost a dozen other players from both sides. Slowly, the players all backed off to form a perimeter around Mr. DeMartino and Rock and Roll Randy, who were circling one another.

 

“Looks like we were just in time,” Jennifer said to Daria, not taking her eyes off of the action. Daria just nodded and leaned forward in her seat.

 

“Go, Mr. D!” Samantha shouted.

 

The action came to head, as Mr. DeMartino managed to steal the puck from under Randy's nose and skate off towards the goal. However, it wasn't meant to be, as Randy came up from behind and slashed at his knee with his stick. The teacher went down, clutching his wounded knee, while the deejay continued towards the goal, whooping for joy.

 

Immediately, the Harpies rose as one, booing the foul. Their negative reaction wasn't the only one, as Ms. Barch stormed the “field” and put Randy into a headlock.

 

As more students and faculty rushed out to join in the fun, Jennifer turned to Daria. “Best time I've ever spent in school.”

 

Daria turned to her, subtle smile firmly in place. “Sure beats Monopoly.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer swallowed the bite of pizza before saying, “So you convinced them that their punishment was more trouble for them, than it was for you?”

 

Daria wiped her hand on a napkin and nodded. “Essentially. I would go further to say that I was just too boring to punish, but I'm not quite _that_ self-deprecating.” Kevin walked up to their table, paper plate of pizza in hand and stared at Daria. “ Kevin, I already told you, my parents did not conduct experiments on me.”

 

Kevin waved her off as if he already knew that. “I know, I know. But seriously, now tell me the truth.”

 

Daria heaved a great sigh. “All right. I had a magnetic device implanted in my head.”

 

Pumping his free arm, he replied, “I knew it! What does it do?”

 

With her signature deadpan expression, Daria answered, “It attracts gullible boys.”

 

“Cool,” Kevin said with a nod. “Is it working?”

 

“It's working right now.”

 

Kevin grinned at her stupidly for a moment before he caught on to what she had said. “Whoa! Dude! That is very uncool.”

 

As the indignant boy walked off, Daria remarked, “There is no sadder sight in the world than a football player trying to think.”

 

“Einstein?” Jennifer asked.

 

Daria smirked a little as she said, “I believe it was Jefferson.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I find it a bit ironic that the strongest parts of the story seem to be the new stuff I've added, and the weakest is the old dialogue I'm retreading. Maybe it's the familiarity breeding contempt?


	11. Chapter 11: Woad Warrior

_**Burned Out** _

 

**Chapter 11: Woad Warrior**

 

Daria flipped on the TV, and was treated to a whole twelve seconds of Alanis Morissette's _Ironic_ video before the signal was lost, to be replaced with static. She tried going to another channel, but it seemed that luck was not with her today. With a sigh, she turned off the TV and put the remote down next to her math textbook. It was about then that the Harpies really started getting into their practice session. Their... _music_ , for lack of a better term, easily bled through the paper thin walls, setting Daria's teeth on edge. It honestly would not be so bad if she couldn't make out the lyrics, but Jennifer's singing, while on key and full of emotion, just could not save the awful lyrics themselves, and was operating at full volume. 

 

_The meter is off, and whoever wrote that was trying too hard to rhyme._ Shaking her head, Daria tried to concentrate on her homework, but it was no good. Every time she started getting into the work, another off-putting lyric would filter through, and she'd have to start the equation over again. “This is  _not_ going to work,” she said with a sigh. Pulling out a blank sheet of paper, she scrawled a hasty note to Jennifer explaining where she went, and gathered her stuff together into her backpack.

 

She could still hear them practice through the garage door as she left, and started walking down the sidewalk. She had just made it to the end of the block, when she heard the slapping footsteps of someone running up behind her. Turning around, she found an out of breath Jennifer coming to a stop a few feet away from her. “Jenn? You okay?”

 

Jennifer rested bent over, with her hands bracing against her knees as she struggled to get her breath. She held up a hand to stop her friend and gulped down a couple of lungfuls of precious oxygen. “You... you left before... I could ask...”

 

Daria stood there a moment before asking, “Ask me what?”

 

Jennifer gulped down another breath and stoop more or less upright, though she held onto her side as if it hurt. “The girls want to go to Alternapalooza this weekend, and I was wondering if...”

 

Daria stood in silence, watching the blonde, then said, “And you were wondering if I'd want to go?” She smiled at her friend's nod. “Well, I  _do_ have a few bucks saved up from the term paper writing thing that I did not too long ago, so, sure. Why not. Besides, what was I going to spend that money on anyway, pizza?”

 

Jennifer's grin was infectious. “Great! We're gonna leave home extra early to avoid the traffic, and stay out pretty late. Apparently, one of the guys that Lisa used to date is performing with one of the bands, and invited us all out to a party afterwards. You think your parents will be okay with that?”

 

Daria's mouth quirked into a sorta frown at that. “Hmm, dunno. Maybe if I phrased it right, and left out any mention of a party...”

 

“If the party's a problem, we can bail on it early. I kinda get the feeling that's going to happen regardless. The girls sorta hinted in that direction,” Jennifer replied with a hint of a blush. “Sam outright said that she didn't want me exposed to the kinds of things that happen at them; something about the freaks coming out at night, but at the same time, wanted to ease me into them so that I'm not culture shocked at my first one.” She clasped her hands as if praying, and gave Daria her best puppy eyes. “Please say yes. Having you there would make this less weird and uncomfortable. I know you hate parties, but-”

 

Daria held up her hand to stop her. “I'll do my best to convince them. I won't outright lie to them about the party, though if I need backup, I'll be calling on you and/or Sam to explain things should the need arise. If nothing else, I think they'll want a promise from Sam to watch out for us at the party.”

 

Jennifer threw her arms around a surprised Daria, who awkwardly patted the girl's back. “Thanks, Daria! I was kinda weirded out about some of the stories of these after-concert parties.”

 

“Er, no problem,” Daria replied.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer leaned against the tree, enjoying the late spring morning. She spotted Daria finally walking towards her and pushed her back against the tree to stand upright. She adjusted her backpack and waved to her. “Morning.”

 

“Morning,” came Daria's greeting. She tilted her head to the right and asked, “How long have you been waiting here?”

 

“Just a few minutes,” Jennifer lied. She had left the house a half hour earlier, eager to hear whether or not her friend could make the trip with her. As they walked to school, she asked, “So, what did your folks say? Can you go?”

 

Daria smirked a little and shook her head. “Yeah, I can, but I have to tell you about Quinn, first. She came home yesterday sporting a tattoo as fake as her personality, announcing that _she_ would be going to Alternapalooza as well, along with the fashion police.”

 

“Uh, oh. I can see where this is going,” Jennifer replied.

 

Daria waved a hand reassuringly. “ _Calmez-vous_. I managed to convince her that we would be able to lose each other in a crowd of ten thousand. She almost gave my dad a heart attack though, when she asked to get her bellybutton pierced. She settled on just getting thirty bucks for a fake nose ring, which was probably her plan all along.”

 

Jennifer nodded. “That sounds like her: devious and underhanded, yet utterly shallow. What about the party? Your parents okay with that?”

 

“They want to talk to Sam about that before we leave in the morning, so it's still kinda up in the air, but I think they'll concede in the end, as long as they can get a promise to properly chaperone us.” Daria looked to the blonde and added, “You'll have to talk to her to make sure she looks and acts as respectable as she can, though. The 'rents may be retired hippies, but that just means that they know what teenagers at concerts and parties can do, because they've done them themselves, and oh my god, I need to scrub that mental image from my brain now.”

 

Grinning madly, Jennifer replied, “Well, you'll have to wait another five years before you can order a mind eraser from any bars. So, did Quinn pitch a fit when she found out you might be staying behind for the after party?”

 

Daria grinned at her deviously. “She doesn't know, yet, and if I have my way, she won't until after it's over. I'm going to enjoy lording this over her head.”

 

Knowing that Daria wasn't the type to cackle maniacally, Jennifer filled in for her.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

As they pulled onto Daria's street, Jennifer tried unsuccessfully to comb out a cowlick in her sister's hair with her fingers. “So what do you say if they ask if there's going to be drugs there?”

 

Samantha sighed and rolled her eyes. This was the fifteenth time she had done that today, and it was barely past six. “Not to worry, Mr. and/or Mrs. Morgendorffer. Should any drugs make an appearance, I will be sure to make a hasty, yet safe exit with your daughter and my sister, and bring them straight home... after a quick stop at the police station to have them tested.”

 

Jennifer slapped Samantha's shoulder and pouted at her sister's grin. “Be serious! If they don't let Daria go because of you, I'm gonna stay behind and go to the movies with her! Then, you'll be out fifteen dollars from each of us for gas money!”

 

In the back seat, Sylvie said, “Be nice, Sam. This is important to Jenn.”

 

Turning to Sylvie, she replied, “I'm always nice. You know that.” Turning back to her sister, Samantha said, “Jenn, calm your tits. Daria's parents aren't the first adults I've had to pretend to be responsible to. It'll be fine.”

 

Jennifer took the wheel, as they had started to drift onto the sidewalk. “Sam, her mom's a lawyer. A _lawyer_! The kind that isn't afraid to prosecute! And her dad is so tightly wound, it's a wonder his head hasn't exploded yet!”

 

“ _Your_ head's going to explode if you don't take it down a notch, Jenn,” Sam retorted. “Look, I got this, okay? Nobody who raises a daughter as levelheaded as Daria can be as bad as you're making out. She's got to get it from _somewhere_ , right?”

 

“Ever heard of nature versus nurture?” Jennifer grumbled as she sat back in her seat.

 

They pulled into the Morgendorffer's driveway, and Samantha threw it into park. “Just keep calm, and let me do the talking, alright?” At her sister's nod, she ruffled the younger girl's head. “Come on. Let's go talk to the warden. Lisa, Monique, hold down the fort, okay?” She looked over to the snoring girls and smiled.

 

Samantha walked up and rang the doorbell, the three waiting patiently for a couple of minutes. When the door opened, they were greeted by the sight of Jake in his pajamas and bathrobe, bearing a mug of coffee, looking like he had yet to shower or shave. Samantha held out her hand. “Good morning, Mr. Morgendorffer. I'm Samantha Peterson. You're already acquainted with my sister, Jennifer.”

 

Jake took in the sight of the women before him. She was dressed fairly casual, with tight bluejeans and a Nirvana T-shirt, though her hair was an eye-catching snow white, she looked fairly normal, with no visible tattoos or piercings, beyond her ears. On the opposite side from Jennifer, stood a jaw-dropping platinum blonde with ice blue eyes, dressed similarly to Samantha, except her T-shirt had the My Little Pony logo (badly stretched out of shape to contain her... er, bounty). “Er, morning,” he said, clearly not at his best this early in the morning.

 

He stepped aside to admit them. “Just go on through to the kitchen. We just put a pot of coffee on. Daria should be down in a minute or two. In fact, I'll go check on her.”

 

As he walked up the stairs, Sylvie commented, “He seemed nice.”

 

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Sylvie, you think the neighbor's dog wanting to take your hand off means that he just wants to play.”

 

Sylvie stuck her nose up in the air as they walked. “You just don't understand Ripper like I do.”

 

As they walked into the kitchen, they were greeted by the sight of Helen next to the coffee maker, dressed to the nines, even though it wasn't even six a.m., as if she were about to take down a criminal in court, and all the evidence was in her favor. Helen was still polite and all cheerful smiles, but she nevertheless gave off an air of menace that was palpable. “Good morning, Jennifer, ladies. I'm Helen Morgendorffer, Daria's mother.”

 

Jennifer stepped forward to introduce her entourage. “Good morning, Mrs. Morgendorffer. This is my sister, Samantha, but everyone calls her Sam, and Sylvia, but she prefers Sylvie.”

 

Helen held out her hand. “Sam, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Daria's told us a bit about you, being her best friend's sister.”

 

“Only the good parts, I hope,” Samantha said with a light laugh as she took the proffered hand. “Everyone in the band loves her like our own little sister. We see a lot of ourselves in her, actually.”

 

Helen's smile still didn't quite reach her eyes, but it was warmer than it was before. Still, she didn't quite know what to make of the comment, but was reserving judgment. “I'm glad to hear that, but if she gets in the way of your band's practice, please feel free to send her home.”

 

Samantha gave her a wave of dismissal. “Psht. Please, she's quiet as a church mouse, and it's nice to have a new ear to ask for an opinion now and then. She's always welcome at the Peterson's. In fact, our mom wanted me to give you this, said she would like to meet with the parents who raised such a remarkable girl; her words, not mine.” She pulled a slip of paper out of a pocket and handed it over to the surprised woman. “She would have sent that along with Daria, but didn't want to use her as a messenger.”

 

Looking at the paper, Helen noted the name, Kimberly Peterson and a phone number. She didn't show it, but the gestures, both the offer to get together and the respect for not using her daughter to pass along a message touched her deeply. She tucked the paper into a pocket and turned to Sylvie. “I'm afraid I haven't heard much about you, Sylvie; other than you're in the band, and Sam's best friend.”

 

Sylvie grinned wide and shook Helen's hand. “Guess I gotta make a better impression. Daria's certainly impressed us. Our little Jenn hasn't had a close friend outside of the band since you could count her age on both hands.” She ignored the groan from Jennifer. “Your daughter's a real sweetie. We're happy to know her.”

 

“Er, thank you.” Helen jerked as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh! Where _are_ my manners? Would any of you like some coffee? I just brewed it.”

 

Samantha stifled a yawn and nodded. “I'd love some with a bit of sugar, thanks. Got a long drive ahead of me.”

 

Helen gestured towards the table for them to sit down before pouring another cup. “So, about this party...”

 

“It's less of an official party, and more of an informal gathering of musicians with only a few fans and hangers-on,” Samantha replied. “There's likely to be beer, but there is absolutely no way we're letting Jenn or Daria get near it. Canned soda and bottled water, only, for them.”

 

Helen set the mug down and gave Sam a serious look from her standing position. “And... _harder_ substances?”

 

Samantha took a long sip of the coffee to hide her smile. “I'm not going to lie, Mrs. Morgendorffer, there is also a high chance of some marijuana, but like the beer, we intend to keep both of them as far from it as possible. Should anything _harder_ than that make an appearance, we can either continue our vigil, or leave, at your preference. In fact, I myself won't be drinking, since I'll be driving.”

 

The lawyer sat down and took a sip of her own coffee. “I appreciate your candor and willingness to work within our rules, Sam. It would be unrealistic to expect drugs to not make an appearance, especially at a gathering like this, so I would have known right away if you were lying. However, your maturity is promising, and intend to let you use your own judgment in this case. Daria has our permission to join this party, so long as she doesn't leave your sight. Needless to say, anything that would endanger her... _virtue_ would be on the banned list as well as the alcohol and drugs.”

 

“Naturally, Mrs. Morgendorffer. No teen pregnancies on our watch,” Samantha replied.

 

Helen smiled and said, “Please, call me Helen.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Driving down the freeway, Daria turned back to look at the receding city of Lawndale, and couldn't help but smile a little. Even if it was just for the day, it felt like she had been let out on parole, and boy, did it feel _good_. She looked over at Jennifer squeezed in between her and Monique, who was snoring away the early dawn hours. She gave her a small smile and said, “Breathe in that free air, Jenn. That's the smell of shaking off the Lawndale dust from your shoulders. We'll be back to the dreary mediocrity soon enough, so enjoy it while you can.”

 

Jenn grinned and bumped shoulders with her. “You're so upbeat, Daria. How can you stand to be so bubbly?”

 

Daria shrugged. “It's a gift.”

 

“Alright, ladies,” Samantha called out to the car in general, not bothering to take her eyes off the road. “We're gassed up, watered, fed, and on the road for the next two to three hours. I hope you already went to the bathroom, 'cause there ain't no stops on the Peterson Express to Swedesville!”

 

Sylvie laughed and slapped Samantha's shoulder. “Sam, that's a double negative!” Daria was impressed that Sylvie mentioned it before she could.

 

Samantha smiled and nodded. “Right! Which means there _really_ won't be any stops, short of a medical and/or mechanical emergency.”

 

Lisa, sitting on the right of Samantha and Sylvie, rolled her eyes. “I really wish you'd stop tempting fate like that.”

 

The drummer looked over at Lisa, and would have driven them off the road had Sylvie not instinctively grabbed the wheel to correct their course. “And I wish you'd come out of the Dark Ages with your superstitions, but here we are. Come on, Lise, cheer up. Aren't you excited to see your ex at the party? Maybe hook up with him again?”

 

Lisa grouchily slouched down in her seat and put her knees up on the Charger's dashboard. “I am _not_ going to hook up with that cheater again. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.”

 

“Didn't he say that he just wanted to try a threesome with a couple of hot redheads?” Sylvie asked.

 

Lisa turned her head toward the keyboardist. “One, my red hair comes from a box. Two, he didn't bother to ask me first.”

 

“So you'd have been okay with it if he had asked?” Samantha asked, knowing that Lisa didn't like to share her food, let alone her men. The rest of the car's occupants laughed at the bassist's good natured grumbling.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

_ Well, this is... interesting. _ Daria wasn't sure what to make of Alternapalooza. On the one hand, $75 was a pretty steep door charge for an open air concert fest... like, prohibitively steep, even if that single charge covered everyone in the vehicle. On the other hand, with things like the “Cyberpoetry Slam” and “The Famous Jack Sprat Photogenic Sideshow” playing counterpoint to bands whose talent ranged from the inarguably awful Mystik Spiral, to the passably decent R.E.M. cover band, Loathsome Cowboys, it could not be said that there was nothing interesting to see.

 

At the moment, she and Jennifer was standing before said sideshow with similar expressions of shocked disbelief. “Daria, am I seeing what I think I'm seeing, or have a suffered a severe head injury?”

 

“If it was a head injury, then we both suffered it,” Daria replied. “I'm more shocked that the Fashion Police aren't here trying to get in on it.”

 

The sideshow currently consisted of pretty boys and girls striking poses in front of a crowd. Granted, about half the crowd was jeering or throwing popcorn or crumpled up hot dog wrappers at them, but that meant that half of the crowd  _ wasn't _ . The “performers” on stage were taking it all with good grace, at least, ignoring the jeers and projectiles with aplomb. This apparently, was the warm up act before the pretty boy pinhead came on to hammer a two inch nail up his nose.

 

“Why _aren't_ they here, trying to get into this... show?” Jennifer asked.

 

Before she could answer, Sylvie came up to them, eyes everywhere following her with either desire or envy, or in some cases, both. “Come on, guys, Ciggie Butt is about to go on next. They're one of the better bands here.”

 

“For whatever _that's_ worth,” Daria replied. “Honestly, I think the Harpies could compare favorably to at least half the bands I've heard so far today.”

 

Jennifer blushed, while Sylvie grinned and hugged the dour girl. “Aw, I  _ knew _ you liked us. Come on, Sam's-”

 

“You there! Yes, you!”

 

The three turned to the voice to see the inimitable Jack Sprat himself, carnival barker extraordinaire, pointing to them, or rather, one of them in particular. “Young lady, you deserve to be up here among the angels! Won't you come take your place with the superior exemplars of humankind?”

 

The whole crowd turned to see who he was talking, or rather shouting at, suddenly making Daria and Jenn uncomfortable in the periphery of the spotlight. People parted so that there was a wide area around them, making sure all three were visible to everyone, and even opened up a path up to the stage. Sylvie's response surprised everyone except Jennifer. She burst out in a lilting laugh that had her bent over double. She rested a hand on Daria's shoulder to balance herself as she tried to regain control of her mirth. It took almost a full minute for her laughter to stop enough to stand up straight, but once she set eyes upon Jack Sprat again, her laughter returned and was absolutely helpless as Jenn took her other hand and led her off towards where the bandstand was erected, a smirking Daria glancing back to see the fuming barker glaring at them.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Daria was rather impressed with Ciggie Butt. Not only were all the members onstage and with instruments in hand, at least half of them were sober enough to actually play the same song and be in tune. They weren't about to cause any sensation on American Bandstand or Ed Sullivan, but their particular brand of heavy guitar riffs, loud drumming, and incoherent screaming into the microphone wasn't entirely unpleasant, either. Even she had to admit, they were probably one of the better bands she had heard here today. A shame then, that they had to leave the stage when the bassist started vomiting an unhealthy shade of blue liquid for nearly a minute straight.

 

She looked over to where Jennifer was retelling the incident that had just occurred at the sideshow, much to Sylvie's enjoyment. The taller blonde was hiding her face in Samantha's snow-white hair and her shoulders were shaking with mirth as Jennifer recounted the events. _They really are close, aren't they?_ she mused sadly. _I wonder what it would be like if Quinn..._ She shook her head and returned her attention back to the stage, where the drummer for Ciggie Butt was arguing with the emcee over whose job it was to clean up the possibly toxic waste his friend had just added to the character of the no doubt already colorful stage floor, while some in the audience was adding to the mess by throwing their empty cups at them both. _No sense crying over what might have been. Quinn is far too self-absorbed and competitive, and I'm too bellicose when it comes to her to make nice now and bond like that, no matter how nice they make it look._

 

Looking back at them again, she saw that they had been rejoined by the rest of the band, who were laughing along with them. Samantha looked at her, and waved her over to join them. Daria moved reluctantly towards them, and was rushed into a group embrace when Sylvie pulled her in by the arm. Daria wasn't used to this sort of affection, especially in public. It was through a concerted effort that she had weaned her parents off of hugging her in public at the age of eleven, and though they still gave her the occasional embrace in private, those too had been coming less and less frequently, of late. The thing about affection, is that it was easy to forget what you were missing until it made a reappearance.

 

For just a moment, Daria let herself sink into the group embrace, before gently extricating herself. She _did_ have an image to maintain, after all.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer handed a can of Ultra Cola to Daria as she sat down on the log next to her. She looked over to where Lisa was making out with Randy, the ex who had invited them to the party in the first place. “Well, _that_ didn't take long, did it?”

 

“It was almost like their lips are magnetically attracted to each other. As soon as they got with in five feet, they just came together like two trains going opposite directions on the same track,” Daria replied with a shake of her head.

 

“Or like the Titanic seeing an iceberg for the first time?” Jennifer asked.

 

Daria shrugged. “Whichever disaster you prefer.” She popped open the soda and took a drink. “Let's just hope there's less loss of life with this one. So, do you think it'll last, or will it be like Monique with her on and off again boyfriend, whatsisname.”

 

“Trent,” Jennifer supplied. “He's okay looking, in a Kurt Cobain sort of way, but I honestly don't see why Mo keeps going back to someone _that_ flaky. You know what he gave her for her birthday last year?” When Daria shook her head, she answered, “A piercing. Not on her, but on _him_. Yeah, he _said_ it was for her, but honestly, he could use that tongue stud on any girl. The year before, he gave her guitar strings. I love Mo like a sister, but I really wish she'd exercise a little more selectiveness when it comes to boyfriend material.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment until Daria asked, “What do you know about this Randy guy? Is he gonna cause trouble for the band like Trent does?”

 

Jennifer shrugged. “Honestly, I don't know. All I _do_ know about him is that he's lead guitar for Foam Party, and he's apparently a tiger in the sack, according to Lisa.” She smiled at Daria choking on her soda as some of it went up her nose. “Yeah, get used to hearing all about that if they do end up hooking up again. Lisa does like to brag about 'her boys' as she calls them.”

 

They spotted Samantha across the campfire, as she and Sylvie sat together, sharing a soda, and nodded back at her, when she raised the can at them. Daria stared down at her boots and noted, “They're really close, aren't they? Sam and Sylvie, I mean.”

 

Jennifer picked at the bark on the log where they sat and threw it into the campfire, smiling at the crackle and pop it made as it was consumed. “Pretty close, yeah. They've been friends since kindergarten, so I guess it's only natural. Sylvie's as much my big sister as Sam is. You should meet her little brother. Cute kid, kinda... goofy, I guess you'd say. He sometimes acts like he's not all there, if you catch my meaning, but he's not dumb, not by any means. Gets straight A's in almost all his classes, but he just doesn't... I dunno, it's kinda hard to explain. I think Sam, Sylvie and I are his only friends, and I think he's kinda crushing on me. Remember that picture I showed you a few weeks back? He drew that for me when I babysat him for Sylvie.”

 

“Kid's got talent,” Daria said with a nod.

 

Jennifer nodded in return. “Tell me about it. He can do things with a pencil I didn't think were possible.”

 

With a smirk, Daria replied, “I was actually talking about how he can capture your personality so well, but yes, he is rather remarkable with a pencil, too.”

 

“Sh- shut up,” she said, looking into the fire and taking a drink from her can, while Daria smirked at her again.

 

They watched the party goers for a bit, noting how the things they had noticed at the high school parties were still present with the “adult” set. People still congregated into their own cliques. Pretty people with the pretty people, geeks and music nerds with geeks and music nerds. There were still subtle striations within each group that seemed to depend on a given individual's popularity, both within the group, and with their perceived fame, but for the most part, it looked remarkably like the high school party they had attended at Brittany's house, just with more booze and a new standard for popularity. People drank, smoked (both regular and a more homemade variety), talked, or made out, same as any other party they had attended (which were, admittedly, few). Sometimes a couple would head off into the darkness, and return a few minutes later looking disheveled, or not return at all.

 

Several times, a guy, or couple of guys would start to walk their way, but the not so subtle insistence of Samantha, or Monique would deflect them towards other opportunities. They were surprised when a guy, admittedly, a quite attractive one at that, tried to hit on Sylvie, even went so far as to lay a hand on her shoulder. In an instant, Samantha had grabbed the guy's finger on the offending hand, and twisted until it almost touched the middle of his forearm. With a sweet smile still on her face, she leaned over him, and in a move that looked to Daria like she was kissing him, whispered something in his ear. Needless to say, he got whatever message she was sending him, and wandered off, cradling his wounded hand and pride.

 

A few people laughed at him as he retreated, but most went back to whatever they were doing. It looked like Samantha asked Sylvie if she was alright, but the blonde just laughed the whole incident off. That seemed to be a signal to Samantha, who came over to them. “Well, I have to say that this has been a pretty mild party, but I think that has more to do with all the weed going around than anything else. I usually have to chase the guys away from Sylvie a lot sooner than this. You two ready to go home? Monique got inspired by the atmosphere and wants to work on some songs at home, and Lisa's boy already cheated on her and is off with some other girl.”

 

“Wow, that must have been the fastest romance in the world,” Jennifer remarked.

 

“While I'm sure they beat out some may flies for that record, I doubt it was the fastest ever,” Daria replied.

 

Samantha chuckled and held out her hands to help them up. “Come on, you two. Lisa's already waiting in the car, and we gotta get you back home.” She sniffed them as they stood, drawing a wary look from Daria. “Better stop at the store on the way home and pick up some Lysol. You two reek of second hand purple haze, and I doubt Daria's parents would appreciate the walk down memory lane.”

 

Daria just smiled and shook her head.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

It was a very sleepy-eyed Daria with a nearly terminal case of bedhead who stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, and pulled down a bowl to fill with cereal. Quinn, already seated at the table arched an eyebrow at her. “You're awfully chipper this morning,” she remarked.

 

Still not quite awake, Daria mumbled something that could be generously be interpreted as, “late night.”

 

Quinn smirked at her. “That's right. You weren't back when I went to bed. Where did you all go, to an all night music nerd library or whatever it is band geeks do at that hour?”

 

“Party.”

 

The mumbled reply was so soft, Quinn had to ask for clarification. “Sorry, for a moment there, it sounded like you said party, but that _can't_ be right.”

 

Daria sat down and began listlessly spooning cereal into her mouth. In between mouthfuls, she managed to get out a few intelligible sentences. “Friend of Lisa 'vited us to party after the c'ncert. Much drinking. Some make outs. Fun for all.”

 

Quinn's jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. “You _didn't_!”

 

A smile finally crept on to Daria's face as their eyes met. She didn't even need to say a word.

 

“Mo-oooom! Why did you let Daria got to a party and not me?” she screamed at the top of her lungs as she ran upstairs to find the responsible parental unit.

 

Daria shoveled another spoonful of Cap'n Crunch into her mouth and chewed slowly. She knew she would have to explain herself to her parents later, but for now, the sound of Quinn's emotional distress at the thought that her sister was having more fun than her (true or not), was an immensely satisfying companion to her breakfast.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, this is taking forever. All these projects to do, and so little free time in which to do them. Oh, well. I hope you enjoyed the first nearly completely rewritten episode. We got to one much faster than I had anticipated. I figured I'd have to wait until almost the end of season 1 for that to happen.


	12. The Reachings of Gone Jake

_**Burned Out** _

 

**Chapter 12: The Reachings of Gone Jake**

 

“Guano see some gutsy climbing? Scaling the world's tallest pile of seagull droppings, next on _Sick, Sad World_.”

 

Daria rolled her eyes as she watched a pair of people climbing an enormous mound of bird droppings. She let herself fall backward on Jennifer's bed, narrowly missing the blonde's math book spread open with half filled sheets of homework. “I don't know what's more disgusting, the mountain of seagull droppings, the fact that they found people willing to climb it, or that pun.”

 

Jennifer erased a mistake brought on by the movement Daria caused. “Definitely the pun. Seagulls are gonna poop, and it's easy to find people who will do anything for money, but there's just no excuse for puns.”

 

Attempting a shrug, Daria replied, “Can't really fault your logic. Biological necessity and human greed are a natural part of life. Humor on the other hand...” She strained her eyes upward to see movement she took to be Jennifer nodding. Deciding that the time was right, she dropped her bomb. “I'm not going to be able to go to the Harpies' show this weekend.”

 

Jennifer actually looked up from her work and quirked an eyebrow up. “Just as well, since we're not playing this weekend. Monique wants to spend her birthday with Trent, so the rest of us are expecting them to break up for the twentieth time this month, and spend the rest of the weekend moping and raging, alternately. What's _your_ reason for not attending, if I may be so bold as to ask?”

 

Daria ground her teeth as she bit out, “My parents are taking Quinn and I camping. We're taking advantage of the three day weekend and leaving Friday before dawn.”

 

Jennifer hid her huge grin behind her curtain of hair, hoping that Daria wouldn't mistake the mirth in her voice as being directed at her. “Oh, man. Princess Buttercup in the big, bad woods? I'd pay good money to see that.”

 

“A shame then, that you can't come to witness her be grossed out at having to share an ice-cold stream with a bunch of fish in order to bathe,” Daria lamented.

 

With a nod, Jennifer said, “Ah. a family-only outing, huh?”

 

Daria attempted to shrug again, only partially succeeding this time. “They didn't say as much, but I doubt you'd want to go and be subjected to Quinn's surely near-constant whining, nor my parent's simultaneous attempt to rekindle the fire in their marriage and recapture their youth as hippies.”

 

Jennifer leaned over her so they were looking at their faces upside down, her hair incidentally hiding them from the rest of the world. “If I got to witness Her Highness' discomfort first hand, maybe make some cutting remarks and observations of my own, I wouldn't mind at all.”

 

Daria quirked an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure? You don't exactly strike me as the outdoors type. The 'rents are making a big deal out of being out of contact with civilization. It's quite disgusting to witness.”

 

With a grin, Jennifer answered, “It may surprise you to know that I've actually been camping before with Mom, Sam, and Sylvie. It wasn't exactly something I'd go out of my way to do, but if it will bring some comfort to my best and only friend, I can manage. Besides, it'll give me an opportunity to do something other than laze around the house for a few days while waiting for Monique's impending latest breakup to pass and heal so she can get back with Trent.”

 

“They really are bad for each other, aren't they?” Daria asked with a shake of her head.

 

Suddenly realizing how close they were and how their positions could be misconstrued, Jennifer pulled back with a light blush. “Y- yeah, we've all got bets on how long it's going to take for them to realize it. Sylvie's the only one bucking the odds and betting on them never cluing in and getting married.”

 

At that moment, there was a knock on the door to her room as it opened, and her mother, Kimberly walked in. “You staying for dinner, Daria? We're having fried chicken.”

 

Daria's mouth began watering at the thought of not having to eat frozen lasagne for the the third night in a row. “If it's okay, Mrs. Peterson. I wouldn't want to impose on your hospitality.”

 

“No imposition at all, Daria,” the woman replied.

 

“Mom, would it be alright if I went camping with Daria's family this weekend?” Jennifer asked before she could leave.

 

Kimberly smiled at the thought of her daughter showing an interest in outdoor activity, especially such extended activity as this. “It's awfully short notice, but of course, Sweetie. Just make sure all your homework's done. Are Daria's parents okay with this?”

 

“I'll ask them when I call to let them know I'm staying for dinner, Mrs. Peterson,” Daria said.

 

Kimberly backed out into the hallway. “Alright, then. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes, so wash up, you two,” she said as she closed the door again.

 

Rising to her feet, Daria remarked, “You know, maybe this weekend won't be a total loss.”

 

“Yeah. Who knows? Maybe Quinn will get eaten by a bear or adopted by a pack of wild chipmunks, and she'll have to choose between the parents who raised her, and the parents who best understand her,” Jennifer mused as she too rose and stretched.

 

“Don't get my hopes up,” Daria replied with a smirk.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Of course, Helen and Jake were all to happy to include their reclusive daughter's only friend. In the interest of fairness, they had gone so far as to tell Quinn she could bring along a friend as well, but her response was less than encouraging. “Drag Sandi along to the woods where she can see first hand how geeky my family is? Gawd, Mom, why not just take my social life out into the backyard and shoot it? It would be faster.”

 

The trip out to the woods was just as mind-numbingly boring as Daria had warned. To pass the time, she and Jennifer slept most of the way, waking only when Jake was finally badgered into stopping for breakfast, despite him “making great time”. So, they were fresh when Jake asked the park ranger at the gate of the preserve just where the most remote, least traveled paths were located. They were even alert enough to look at the map on display under a sheet of clear plastic, just in case. Unfortunately for them, the bins holding the free maps for the park visitors were empty, and judging by the spider webs covering them, hadn't seen any such material in a very long time.

 

“Are you sure about that, sir? Some of the trails haven't seen any maintenance for a few seasons,” the ranger had asked.

 

Jake laid a hand on the man's shoulder and smiled. “No worries, my man! Me and the wife used to hike all the time!”

 

And so, with some vague directions and worried expressions (save one), the five of them set off into the woods. The quiet of the forest was a nice change of pace from the city, but naturally, Quinn didn't seem to agree. Five minutes into the hike, she started in with the complaints. “It is soo hot! I think the sun's too bright for the SPF of the sunscreen I brought. Ugh! The ground is too uneven; it's making my ankles hurt. Is this mosquito bite going to give me mercenaria? Is that a dead skunk? _Eeewww!_ ” She was finally silenced by Helen explaining to her that roughing it means going without some creature comforts. She consoled herself by humming a Boyz2Guyz song to cover up the thunderous silence of the gentle breeze blowing among the branches, chirping birds, and buzzing insects.

 

Of course, Jake seemed to take offense at her choice of music, and to counter her, began singing show tunes at the top of his lungs, and scaring off all the wildlife. "Give my regards to Broadway / Remember me to Harold's Square / Tell all the gang at 42nd Street / That I will soon be there!” He took in a deep breath and let it go with a satisfied sigh. “Is this great, or what? For the next 72 hours, we're going to live off what nature send our way!” He pointed to a small brook excitedly. “See that stream? That's our drinking water!” He pointed again, this time to a bush bearing mysterious red berries. “See those berries? That's our breakfast!”

 

Daria pointed to the ground at a tree and said, “See that skeleton? That's our future.” Jake, Helen and Quinn looked, to see nothing there. “Made you look.”

 

Jennifer blew out a breath in a disappointed noise. “Pfft. Optimist. As if the scavengers would leave our skeletons intact instead of scattered across the forest.”

 

“Oh, don't be so morbid, girls! You're in the middle of nature! Enjoy yourselves,” Helen said.

 

“Y- yeah! Come on girls! We got a long way to go before we set up camp!” Jake's nervousness was hidden as he marched off, singing, “Oh, it's a long way / to Tipperary / It's a long way / to go...”

 

Quinn's shoulders sagged as she chased after her parents, leaving Daria and Jennifer to share a small smile, before they followed, singing along with Jake.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

The group walked into a small clearing, where Jake stopped, calling a halt to their march. He dropped his backpack against a tree and took another deep breath of fresh air. “Total isolation!” he declared to the world.

 

Helen Did likewise, a genuine smile on her face. “No phone, no fax, no e-mail, no voicemail! No way to contact the outside world! What a luxury.” Daria and Jennifer weren't sure, but they thought they detected a hint of regret, maybe even slight panic in her voice.

 

“Tonight, we'll tell spooky stories around the campfire. Tomorrow, we hike till we drop!” Jake announced, a grin wider than any of them had ever seen on his face.

 

Helen leaned against him, resting a hand on his chest, and looked up at him adoringly. “Just like we used to.”

 

Caught up in the nostalgia, Jake replied, “Remember?”

 

Helen smiled and looked off into the distance. “We were so relaxed in those days.”

 

Jennifer leaned closer to Daria and whispered, “Do you suppose they're remembering their glory days?”

 

Daria arched an eyebrow at her. “Remember, their glory days consisted of incense, peppermints, and meaningless nouns.”

 

“Turn on, tune in, turn your eyes around, baby!” Jennifer said, holding up her fingers in a peace sign.

 

Quinn rolled her eyes and walked further out into the clearing, muttering under her breath, “Gawd, you two are almost as bad as them.”

 

“Far out,” Jennifer said to her retreating back.

 

Helen suddenly came out of her reverie and started rummaging through her backpack, only stopping when she pulled out a roll of toilet paper, which she smirked at.

 

Pulled from his own remembrances, Jake asked, “Girls, doesn't all this beauty take you right out of yourselves?”

 

Jennifer hugged herself and looked around. “I dunno. I kinda feel exposed being outside of myself.”

 

Daria nodded in agreement, even going so far as to act cold. “Yeah, I think I'm getting a chill. If you don't mind, I'm gonna crawl back into myself for a while; maybe build a fire.”

 

Helen shook her head and looked over to her youngest and asked, “What about you, Quinn?”

 

It appeared that something they had said finally caught up to her. In shock, she whirled around to face her parents and shouted, “No _phone_?”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer carefully examined the corner pocket that was supposed to be the home for two of the tent poles, but was dismayed to find that there was only a slot for one. She double checked, noting that this was indeed the front peak corner and shook her head. She looked over to where Jake was struggling with his own tent, and mentally debated calling him over. He was ranting something about a lean-to and sticks, while Helen gave her an apologetic glance. Finally, she decided that maybe giving him a break from his own more complicated tent, she called out, “Mr Morgendorffer? Can you give me a hand with this?”

 

Immediately, Jake's expression softened, and even got a little excited. “Sure thing, Kiddo!” He left the tent to collapse in on itself again for the third time, and walked over to kneel down next to her. “What's wrong?”

 

Jennifer pointed to the pocket, then the poles. “I see where these go, but every time I try to put them in, they just pop out.”

 

Jake looked at the poles and smiled. “Well, that's because you need to put the connector piece on the ends before slipping them in.” He dug around in the small nylon bag that held all the small tent parts and pulled out a triangular, black plastic piece. He fitted the ends of the poles into it, then slid it into the pocket. With the other ends already in their pockets on the bottom, the tension held up the tent wall, or at least, it would once it was staked down. He leaned back on his heels and nodded. “There you go! Want some help getting it the rest of the way?”

 

“Thanks, Mr. Morgendorffer, but I want to try to get as much as I can on my own,” Jennifer replied with a shake of her head. “I just couldn't figure out that part. Didn't know there was more to it.”

 

Standing up, Jake was about to tousle her hair, but thought better of it. “No problem, Kiddo! You need some more help, just let me know.” He walked back to his own project, happily humming to himself.

 

To Helen's surprise, he started putting the tent together, this time, not even getting angry when he made a mistake. If anything, he got even _happier_. He was bordering on aggressively happy by the time he finished, just ahead of Jennifer. He gestured toward the tent with a grin a mile wide. “Now _that_ is a tent!”

 

Jennifer stood, gazing at her own handiwork and nodded. “Right. I suppose I better get started on Quinn's, now.”

 

They had brought a small one-man tent for Quinn, since Daria agreed to share the larger one with Jennifer. Jake went over to her. “Here, let me help. Since we know you got it with yours, and all.”

 

Helen stood back with a smile on her face as she watched the two of them quickly get the tent up. When Daria and Quinn came back, each with an armload of firewood, the woman turned away to hide the tears of happiness that had welled up.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Night had closed in, and five figured huddled around a campfire, not so much for warmth, as for atmosphere, and to hear the largest figure tell his story.

 

“Then, lying there in the darkness, the boy heard a tiny splashing sound. Psh! Psh! Like waves on a faraway shore. Except... the nearest ocean was a hundred miles away.” Jake was feeling good getting this story out. It didn't show on his face, as it was overtaken at the moment by undisguised rage and disgust. “The boy reached out for his sleeping father... but he was gone. Shaking with fear, the boy stumbled out of the rickety lean-to, and that's when he saw it: his father, sitting alone at the campfire. Alone... with a whole case of beer! Psh! Psh!” At this, he mimed opening a can of beer and drinking from it. “The selfish old bastard was wasted again!”

 

Jennifer and Daria shared a look of bemusement, while Quinn looked into her compact mirror, and Helen just shook her head.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Helen leaned dangerously close to the campfire for someone wearing that much hairspray, but it illuminated her face quite well as she told her story. "'You're a vampire?' she whispered to the pale stranger with the _brooding_ eyes. She felt her bosom blush and heave with excitement. 'You've come to take my blood!' 'Your... _blood_? he laughed. 'Oh, there's time enough to take your blood. Tonight I'm going to take your...'” She paused as she finally noticed Jake flailing his hands wildly, while Quinn looked disgusted, Daria bored, and Jennifer leaning forward with a wide grin on her face.

 

She faltered as she tried to come up with a way to salvage the situation without seeming too much like a parent. "'...take your pulse! To make sure that, you know, the blood will be there when I come back.'"

 

Quinn hid her face in her hands in shame, while Jennifer fell back off the log with a cry of, “Lame!”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

“So Cinderella said, 'I _can't_ go to the ball in _these_ rags.' And her fairy godmother waved her wand and behold, she was wearing a gown of silver and gold. Big clunky silver and gold sequins, like you wouldn't wear to one of those seventies nostalgia proms, much _less_ a formal party at a palace. And when she went to check out herself in the mirror- the one that usually made her look thin, instead she looked _bloated_!”

 

Helen laid her hand on the log where Quinn sat and asked in an exasperated voice, “Quinn, honey, is this _really_ a scary story?”

 

Shocked, Quinn replied, “Wait! I haven't gotten to the _shoes_ yet!”

 

Jennifer rolled her eyes and tried to stifle a yawn that Daria made no such attempt to obfuscate.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Daria's dispassionate, monotone voice somehow lent a surreal quality to the graphic horror she imparted to her audience. “So the witch tore Hansel's arm off, popped it in her mouth, said, 'Hey, pretty good,' and within minutes had devoured the rest of his body, leaving only the lower intestine for fear of bacteria.” The firelight glinted off of her glasses, obscuring her eyes, making the situation even more macabre. “Gretel, she decided, she wanted to hold on to for a while, so she crammed her into the freezer the best she could.”

 

Helen, Jake, and Quinn looked at her in disgust and horror, while Jennifer held her chin in one hand and nodded appreciatively. “Not a bad take on an old classic. Seven out of ten.”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer stood, struggling with an invisible attacker for control of a weapon. “Of course, being an inhuman serial killer from beyond the grave, Allison was no match for the Monster's strength, and was easily overpowered. The Monster snatched the ax away from her feeble grip, and with an almost casual backhanded swing, lopped off her head, sending it flying into the punch bowl, where blood and spiked punch splashed over the bodies of her slashed up friends.” She looked over her audience, happy to note that the reactions to her story were almost as extreme as the ones Daria had received. “The Monster surveyed the carnage he had wrought, and if he still had lips instead of the rotted flesh covering his mouth, he would have smiled. Fourteen promiscuous, drunken teenagers, all killed in various, bloody ways. But his work wasn't done yet. There was still the girl hidden in the closet-”

 

“Well, I think we should all hit the hay! Gotta get up bright and early tomorrow, you know!” Jake's interruption startled the rest of the group out of their horrified stupor, causing Helen and Quinn rise and pretend to be tired, even though they were certain that sleep would not be coming for them any time soon.

 

Daria yawned as she rose. “I suppose you're right, Dad. Gotta get up pretty early if we're going to not catch any fish tomorrow.”

 

Confused, Jake replied, “I think you got that confused, Honey-”

 

Daria stopped and turned back to him. “Did I?” When no answer was forthcoming, she turned back to the tent and crawled inside.

 

Jennifer made to follow her, but turned back to the others. “Pleasant screams...” she said with a grin before zipping up their tent.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer was lying on her back, staring at the roof of the tent, listening to the sounds of the night bugs safely on the other side of quarter a millimeter of nylon canvas. Though there was no light on, and the campfire had been safely put out, there was enough starlight to make out vague shapes. She licked her lips a few times in between chewing on them. She looked over to Daria, who had turned away from her, and shook her head, ready to try to actually get some sleep.

 

“If there's something you want to ask, now's as good a time as any.”

 

It took Jennifer a moment to figure out that it was Daria who whispered to her, and not her imagination. “Umm...”

 

Daria turned over in her sleeping bag while putting on her glasses to face her friend and propped herself up on one elbow. She regarded Jennifer's surprised look with some amusement. “Don't be so surprised. Anyone who spends any amount of time around you and pays attention, could see that there has been something on your mind, lately. So, we're both here, we're alone, no foreseeable disturbances for a few hours- at least as long as we keep the noise down, and neither of us have anywhere else to be. So, let's have it.”

 

Jennifer chewed on her lip again, then sighed in defeat. “Sorry. It's just... I've been trying to approach you with this question for weeks, but kept getting interrupted.” She rolled on her side and propped herself on her elbow in a mirror image of Daria. “I... See, it's like...”

 

“Yes?” Daria prompted quietly.

 

“You've heard the Harpies' songs. We only really have the one good one.” Jennifer looked down at her sleeping bag and picked at a loose thread. “Well, that's not true. _Heart Like Winter_ is pretty good, but really, the best we have going for us is _Deadly Is The Night_. Monique, while she's a good band leader, and a fantastic guitarist, well... her lyrics...”

 

Daria nodded. “I know. I'm still trying to figure out what she meant by, 'Everything and more has your skin crawling.'”

 

Jennifer grimaced. “Yeah. Not exactly a shining example of lyrical genius. So, I was kinda hoping...”

 

“That I'd perhaps become the band's lyricist?” the auburn-haired girl ventured.

 

“Well, we'd have to do a trial run or two, run them by the rest, since we have a formal contract now for this sort of thing, but... yes?”

 

Daria considered for a moment before nodding. “I suppose I could eke out a song or two. Who knows? It might turn out to be a viable long-term outlet for my poetry.”

 

Jennifer settled into her sleeping bag again, this time with a smile. “Thanks Daria. I really think this combination of talents could propel all six of us into something great.”

 

Daria settled down on her back as well. “If nothing else, it sounds like fun. Goodnight, Jenn.”

 

“G'night, Daria.” As Jennifer drifted off, her final conscious thought was,  _ Is it just me, or did Daria sound a little disappointed? _

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Daria was awakened early next morning by her mother sticking her head in the tent and saying, “Daria, get up. I need you. Your father's in a sickening mood. And wake Jennifer, I'm going to get Quinn up before I strangle the next chipper person I see.”

 

Jennifer rolled over and rubbed at her eyes. “It better not be as early at is feels, or there will be blood.”

 

Any reply was forestalled when Jake called out, “Are they decent, Helen?”

 

Helen backed out, saying, “Yes, Jake.”

 

Jake poked his head in, brandishing a branch with red berries dangling from it. “Up and at 'em, ladies! Time to join the forest morning, already in progress. Breakfast is on Mother Nature. Yum! Meet you around the fire in five minutes!” He ducked out before any violence could be visited upon him from either girl.

 

“I hope you won't be too upset if I kill your father and bury his body under a tree, Daria,” Jennifer said as she sat up, her hair having a spectacular case of bedhead that would have amused her friend had she not been suffering a similar fate.

 

“Only if you make me dig the hole alone,” she replied.

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

As they trekked through the forest, Daria again thanked her foresight in bringing along some junk food to sustain herself. The chips might have gotten a little crushed, but it was better than the alternative. Berries of questionable edibility just could not compete with Barbeque Ruffles. Her only real worry was keeping her father from smelling them on her breath. _Note to self: in future, stick to plain or salt and vinegar._

 

As if prompted by her thoughts, Jake asked, “Was that breakfast great, Kiddo?”

 

Daria looked off to the side guiltily, trying to pass it off as being interested in finding the bird she could hear chirping in the trees. “Umm, actually, uh, I'm not all that into wild berries, Dad. No telling what was on those. I sort of didn't eat mine. I'm waiting for lunch.”

 

Jake's face fell, but he perked up again, right away. “Oh, well, you're gonna love my roasted acorns a la Jake!” He smiled as he looked around at all the greenery and gestured to their surroundings. “Can you believe the whole continent used to look like this?”

 

Jennifer, who was walking just behind them, replied, “Hard to imagine, what with the encroaching concrete jungle, huh?”

 

Daria turned just enough to catch her eye. “It really makes me yearn for the past. I may get cholera in sympathy.”

 

They rounded a blind curve in the trail, happening upon a fork. The left side looked clear, but the right was overgrown, with a felled tree blocking most of the path. Yellow caution tape was wrapped around a pair of trees, forming a gate of sorts, along with a sign that read, “Danger! Trail Washed Out!”

 

Jake gestured toward the divide. “Look at that, girls: a fork in the trail. If you go one way, you can't go the other.”

 

With a sigh, Daria asked, “This is going to depress me, isn't it?” She felt lifted, though, when Jennifer silently pinched her sleeve and let it go after a quick yank, offering her a small smile.

 

“This way over here leads to an entry-level job,” Jake said, pointing towards the clear path on the left. “A little bit of money in your pocket. Soon, you're wearing a suit and tie every day like all the other faceless saps, living in a boring little house in a bland little town, and doing so well you're in debt up to your disappearing hair! That's where that trail leads, Daria.” Anger and disgust spotted his face.

 

Daria nodded toward the other path. “I guess that other trail is the one that leads to personal satisfaction and spiritual fulfillment. That's why they don't want you to take it.”

 

Jake's expression changed to joy in the blink of an eye. Dammit, Daria, you're brilliant!”

 

As her father started climbing over the sign, Daria reached out for him saying, “Wait, it was a joke?” Seeing that she would actually have to take action, she added, “I don't think that's such a great idea, Dad.”

 

Jennifer held out a hand, but hesitated from actually touching him. “She's right, Mr. Morgendorffer. That path looks pretty treacherous. It would be pretty easy to get hurt before you even realize you're in danger.”

 

Jake turned back to his daughter, a fire flashing in his eyes. “It's not cautious, is it, Daria? It's not the sort of thing a responsible family man would do.”

 

“Are you okay? You look kinda pale,” Daria asked.

 

Starting to get scared that Jake was going to hurt himself, Jennifer said, “Mr. Morgendorffer, I think I saw a snake moving around down there just now. Maybe we should just take the cleared path.”

 

Jake regarded her as well. “Maybe you think we should go back to camp, huh? You girls go back to camp! I'm going to see what... _who_ is down this trail.” He looked up to the sky and shook his fist. “You hear that, old man? I don't care what happens to me, Daria! I'm past feeling pain!" His bold statement was put to the test when he walked right into a low branch, bumping his head hard enough for all three to hear the impact. “Ow! Dammit!”

 

At that moment, all of them could hear Quinn's voice calling to them from further back down the path toward the camp. “Daaariaaaa!”

 

Daria took hold of Jake's arm, leading him away from the dangerous trail and back toward the camp. “Come on, Dad. Quinn needs us.”

 

Jennifer followed behind them, glancing back at the trail, and was surprised to see movement among the grass, where a small, black snake slithered out to cross the trail, only to disappear in the grass on the other side.

 

Still blinded by pain, Jake let his daughter lead him away, while she shook a fist at the sky and shouted, “I'm not done with you, yet, old man!”

 

It only took a couple of minutes to come upon a scene that had all of them worried. Quinn was kneeling next to an apparently unconscious Helen. Jake ran over and kneeled next to her and took her hand, lightly patting it.

 

“Quinn? What happened to Mom?” Daria asked.

 

Quinn was clearly just seconds from a complete panic attack. “She was talking about buds and doors and stuff and then she told me to lead the tribe and she fell asleep.”

 

“That doesn't sound good,” Jennifer mumbled to herself.

 

Still patting her hand, Jake called out to his wife. “Helen?”

 

Helen came around and opened her eyes, revealing her alarmingly dilated pupils. “Wha...? Oh! Jake, honey, you had us a little worried.”

 

“You had _us_ worried, Mom,” Quinn replied.

 

Daria, too far away to notice her mother's eyes, said, “That's funny. I don't remember being worried about anyone.

 

Now holding her hand with both of his own, Jake asked her, “Quinn said you were talking about some kind of tribe?”

 

Helen smiled. “No, honey, the _tide_! I was saying we ought to set sail while the tide's still high.”

 

“Um, what?” Jennifer said.

 

“Dad?” Quinn asked.

 

Jake chuckled as he helped Helen up to her feet. “Don't worry, Sweetie. Your Mom sounds a little nutty but she's making perfect sense.”

 

“She is?” Quinn was clearly still confused.

 

“Sure! If we try to sail at low tide and ran aground, we'd be sitting ducks for Captain Cutlass' men.” Jake laughed as if stating something obvious. “I don't know about you, but I don't want to be skinned alive and thrown to the sharks, right girls? Come on, let's go gather some provisions!” He and Helen ran off into the woods, laughing gaily.

 

Quinn turned to the other two teens. “This is really scary, Daria.”

 

Checking her watch, Daria said, “Okay. Let's look at this calmly, and objectively, agreed?”

 

Quinn nodded and Jennifer said, “No sense running off half-cocked... yet.”

 

Daria started pacing before them as she listed off the details. “We're stuck in the middle of nowhere, we have no means of contacting the outside world, no vehicle other than our own two feet, nobody knows where we are, and the adults have clearly gone over the edge.” She looked up at her sister and said, “Quinn? This is really scary.”

 

“I have an emergency signal whistle, but it's range is pretty limited, especially with all this foliage in the way,” Jennifer offered. “I was going to bring a flare gun, just in case, but my mom said she would sooner send me out with an actual gun, given how dry the season has been.”

 

“Probably for the best,” Daria agreed. “Even if you shot the flare, there's no guarantee that anyone would be watching for it.”

 

“But _why_ did they go insane?” Quinn wondered.

 

Daria shrugged. “Knowing Dad and his Buxton Ridge Academy-honed woodland skills, I would say it was the berries, except-”

 

“Quinn ate the berries, too, and she seems normal. Well, normal being a relative term,” Jennifer finished.

 

“Exactly,” Daria agreed.

 

“Maybe it was because those weren't the glitter berries,” Quinn ventured.

 

“Glitter berries?” Daria and Jennifer asked in perfect harmony.

 

Quinn's eyes were now fully dilated. “You know, the  _glitter_ berries! The ones that fill your mouth with beautiful, sparkling glitter when you bite into them.  _Those_ are the ones that make you act weird. I mean, until you spread your shimmering wings and fly away.” She spread her arms out and flapped them around as if they were wings, and pranced around the two stunned girls.

 

“Uh-oh,” Daria said.

 

“Spaghetti-ohs,” Jennifer added.

 

Quinn stopped prancing long enough to ask, “Daria, you don't have a mirror, do you? I want to check my makeup.”

 

“You're not _wearing_ any make up,” she replied.

 

Horror dawned on her face at this revelation. “I'm not? Oh, no!” Quinn dropped down to her knees, and started splashing mud on her face.

 

Daria reached out to her sister. “Quinn, maybe you should take it easy for a while.”

 

At that moment, Jake ran by, wearing only his boxers and boots, wielding a sharpened stick. “Come back, spirit animal!”

 

Jennifer immediately averted her eyes and said, “Is there a brain store around here? Mine has clearly seen too much.”

 

Helen ran up, stopping when she saw the girls, and asked, “Girls, have you seen your father's spirit animal? He was just telling it about his childhood when it jumped up and scampered off.”

 

“Scampered?” Daria asked.

 

“Nope, and I certainly did not see your husband running around in his underoos,” Jennifer added.

 

Quinn stood and laid a hand on her mother's arm. “What did it look like, Mom?”

 

“Oh, you know, yellow, stripes on the back, _powerful_ hind legs, three horns, a beard...” Helen's eyes took on a dreamy aspect as she thought again of those hind legs.

 

Quinn pulled Helen away, in her father's direction. “Come on, I saw where it went!”

 

Suddenly alone with Daria, Jennifer asked, “This isn't looking good, is it?”

 

Daria sighed. “I'll admit, the situation is less than ideal. Not even a camera to use for blackmail later.” She took a deep breath, and let it out again. “Okay. Remain calm. Family's gone mad. Must get them back to civilization, but no way to contact civilization because Mother made big deal about cutting off all communications. What to do?”

 

The question was answered by the distinct, yet muffled sound of a cellphone ringing in Helen's backpack. They walked over to the pack, where Daria pulled out Helen's ever present cellphone. “Rely on Mother's hypocrisy to see us through this crisis,” she said as she pressed the receive button.

 

Immediately, without even so much as a “Hi,” her boss' voice came over the line. “Helen, do you have a few minutes to go over these depositions?”

 

There was a great crashing from the bushes as Jake ran out into the clearing, his boxers in danger of falling apart after going through such rough terrain. He pointed as he ran, shouting, “There it is! Behind that pack of zebras!” He continued his pursuit of the invisible creature, Helen and Quinn hot on his heels.

 

Daria returned her attention to the phone. “She'll have to call you back. The zebras are harboring a fugitive spirit animal.” She pressed the end call button, then immediately followed it with a call to Emergency Services. “Hello, 911?”

 

(\ /)

( . .)

*(“)(“)

 

Jennifer was just finishing up the story as she, Samantha, their mother, and Daria reached the car in the hospital parking lot. “So, they're getting their stomachs pumped, but the doctor wants to keep them overnight for observation, in case they have an adverse reaction to the psychotropic berries.”

 

“Well, Quinn _is_ allergic to pistachios,” Daria added.

 

“Better safe, than sorry,” Kimberly said. “Still, what a shame to end such a nice trip this way. At least _we_ get to keep you for the night, Daria, instead of you having to spend the night in an uncomfortable hospital chair,” she added with a smile.

 

Daria nodded. “Thanks again, Mrs. Peterson. You saved my back.”

 

Kimberly turned to her and said, “Mi casa es su casa, Daria.”

 

“Good thing you guys found that disposable camera in Helen's backpack so you could take some pictures of the berries for the doctors,” Samantha said. “Who knows what they'd have to give them to counteract the effects without it.”

 

Daria and Jennifer shared a grin. “Yeah... for the berries,” Daria said as she took out the pictures to look at the one of Quinn jumping as she tried to catch her father's spirit animal, face smeared with mud, hair full of twigs and leaves, and clothing in complete disarray. “I think this is a trip none of us will be forgetting for as long as we live.”

 

“Not with the photographic evidence, we're not” Jennifer added.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this is taking forever. Still, I want to try to stick it out to the end. I've put another story on hiatus, so that should take some of the load off, but even so, don't expect a new chappy every week, or anything.


End file.
